


Taken

by Laryna6



Series: Noblesse Works [2]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Flashback Arc, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12188022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laryna6/pseuds/Laryna6
Summary: Frankenstein realizes just how many liberties he's taken with his host. How much will Raizel let him give? Cowritten with qdeanna.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I RPed with Qdeanna, then cleaned up and added an intro. That means rapid POV shifts once you get past the intro – I hope the glimpses into the mind of Qdeanna’s excellent Raizel more than make up for it.

It amused Frankenstein to play the seducer among the nobles. They were so used to seeing humans unable to resist their allure, so to turn the tables on them? Leave them wanting a human who watched them with mocking eyes? It made his captives uncomfortable, fearful, off-balance and the criminals deserved it.

A human who was so very familiar with Cadis Etrama di Raizel, the noble so many of them clearly wanted but would never dare touch? Let them envy the human who had the courage to do what they could not.

Cadis Etrama remained silent whatever Frankenstein chose to do. At first it seemed he was genuinely ignorant, what with being a hermit who lived alone in a house in the woods, so Frankenstein decided to step up his game until the clueless noble at least knew what was going on. Then it progressed to taking Raizel’s hand to kiss it (incredibly rude – you were only to kiss a lady’s hand if she offered it to you, not take the liberty of choosing to kiss it yourself, but Frankenstein couldn’t get out of the habit of pushing nobles), and one thing led to another and it wasn’t until the Lord made Frankenstein realize that he’d stayed with him this long because he actually had feelings for Cadis Etrama di Raizel that Frankenstein realized just how blatant he’d become. How many liberties he’d taken with his host.

He’d practically been molesting him. If Raizel wasn’t so patient and forgiving, Frankenstein would have been asked to leave years ago. He immediately knocked it off, a little ashamed at how he’d been treating a noble who had been nothing but kind to him.

Then he noticed that Raizel was casting more glances at him, the way he did when Frankenstein didn’t serve tea. He’d noticed that Frankenstein was stopped? Was he worried that it meant something was wrong with his guest?

Frankenstein couldn’t reassure him, not when that would have meant admitting what he’d been doing, a conversation that contained phrases like ‘sorry I lounged on your windowsill without materializing myself a shirt first after sparring with Ragar,’ or ‘sorry for starting so low when I trailed my hand up your back.’ How had it escaped his notice how often he was touching the noble, even if it had only increased little by little over ten years? But Raizel had always allowed it, and Frankenstein realized that he’d wanted to touch him, that Raizel was the first person he’d touched other than his prisoners in decades.

Still turning it over in his mind, he opened the door to Raizel’s room to find the noble sprawled out on the couch with his shirt removed. Frankenstein spotted it folded up on the table, Raizel was very careful with his shirts.

After a moment, Frankenstein swallowed. “Sir?” he asked his host.

Was there a trace of color in Rai’s cheeks as he stood up and walked closer to Frankenstein before putting an arm around him? Frankenstein was very glad he’d been pushing a tea cart instead of carrying a tray. He would have dropped it at that point. Or after Raizel’s hand trailed down a little lower, when Frankenstein didn’t respond.

He stared at the noble, eyes a couple of inches beneath his own and only a few inches away, gobsmacked. Did this mean… From that spreading blush he could only think that yes, it did. 

He still needed to ask. It was wrong that he’d touched Raizel so much, so intimately, without asking. “Does this mean you want me to keep touching you?”

Raizel nodded after a moment, blush deepening and it was adorable.

Frankenstein knew his smile was a little gooey and couldn’t care. “Then would you like to join me in the bedroom for something a little more… intimate?” No, he’d have to spell it out for Raizel. “We’ll need to take off our pants as well,” he began, and then bent his lips to Raizel’s ear, whispering and relishing how his noble must be responding to his words.

When he took Raizel’s hand and pulled back to look, and wait for a response, his noble was blushing and making small humming sounds before finally Raizel managed to say, expression serious and nod firm, “I consent.”

He just had to lean forward and taste him, at that, putting an arm around his back and dipping him as they kissed.

The first time Frankenstein took him, because poor innocent Raizel had no idea what he was doing.

The next night Raizel tentatively took charge, determined to let Frankenstein enjoy the same pleasure Raizel had felt.

Seeing Raizel so cutely determined touched something in Frankenstein. He lay down, hiding his inexperience – he’d never been on this end before. Then Raizel lay down on top of him and there was something so so… comforting in it, having someone he trusted between him and the world that he couldn’t help relaxing. If he wasn’t in charge here, he wasn’t the one responsible for making sure this went well, so it was alright to just enjoy. To spread his lips for Raizel’s kisses, to relax his control enough to let his body make small sounds to let Raizel know what he was doing.

He let Raizel have control, and it was nice. More than nice. The amount of care Raizel was taking, kissing up his chest, was so endearing, and he felt himself relax into it more and more, letting go and savoring the warmth and surety of the touches. 

Working his way up Raizel bit his neck, just where Frankenstein had bitten his, and he remembered what the Previous Lord said about True Contracts, how biting the neck was something dirty, but Frankenstein kept himself quite clean, thank you very much, and right now he wanted to let Raizel make him feel a certain kind of dirty. Wanted Raizel to make him feel, to experience something visceral.

He let go.

"More," he almost begged after the sweet little sound that passed his lips when Raizel bit.

And Raizel paused, glanced up. They were close, close enough to breathe each other in, but neither had ever been this breathless. Raizel had done what Frankenstein had done, but he did not know how to give 'more'. "What should I do?" he asked, because he was afraid he would not be enough.

'Take me,' Frankenstein wanted to say, his legs spread and his cock dripping. In this moment, beneath this noble, he wanted to be in his power completely, owned and possessed. "My blood... it is yours if you want it," he managed to say, and shuddered from desire.

No, more than that - they had come together in body, and he wanted to come together in soul. There was no point in pretending diffidence. "I would like to make a contract with you," he said, and cursed himself for not handling this before, because what if this spoiled the moment, what if they talked about it while his body burned for more?

Raizel saw, or rather felt, that heat--the heat of the moment, of Frankenstein, of himself--and nowhere did he feel, did he see, hesitation. Indeed, there was an urgency, a desperation in Frankenstein's eyes, in his rising and falling chest, in his soft words. He was not trying to be seductive but Raizel had never found him more tempting and it was all right. It was all right because it felt right to sink his teeth into that lovely neck and for a moment, he was allowed to be just a little greedy.

It was indescribable. All words fled his mind when there was pressure and then a sharp pain. Instead of fear there was only pleasure at it, his soul as open and willing as his body. He felt that deeper union and shuddered beneath Raizel, feeling his body rub against him and oh. Yes. Heat and closeness, body and soul. Together, not in ecstasy, not yet, but together.

His eyes grew wet - he had been so lonely for so long, and now... He would, could never regret this.

Raizel licked at the wound once more and it had already healed. He lifted his head and he was not that picture perfect elegance as he should be, blood on his lips, on his chin, and not his own. He blinked because he had thought the glint in Frankenstein's eyes had been a trick of the light, of the rush of soul and soul. It was not. Though Frankenstein's skin had healed, their souls were raw and open, bleeding feelings into each other. Years and years passed by in an instant, decades, centuries all here, right now, and they felt in each other what they had felt alone for all that time. But here they were, both greedy for each other, because they had finally realized that they were starving, had been starving for so, so long.

Frankenstein let himself whimper, felt how much he hungered for Raizel's touch. For ANY touch - he had practically been groping Raizel before he realized it, always wanting more. More touch, more intimacy, and the noble permitted it and even if he didn't reciprocate (but now!), he allowed it and it was more than Frankenstein had had in so long.

"Take me," he whispered along their bond, feeling their souls surge together, rooting in each other, tangling together in fear of separation. "Fill my empty heart with you."

Raizel's breath stuttered. He was caught. Caught by Frankenstein's embrace, by his soul, and for a moment, he was afraid he was indeed not enough. After all, how could he fill a heart that was so, so... much? Because Frankenstein had lived and loved more than Raizel could ever dream of. Raizel was in awe, and he had been given the honor of holding the whole world in his arms, of tasting his lips, of brushing his tears away, of taking him. Taking him and keeping him safe. So, Raizel parted from Frankenstein's lips only to press his fingers to them.

Frankenstein took those fingers into his mouth, laved them with kisses. Sweet Raizel's delicate hands, uncallused and unscarred (no, he'd never allow a wound to scar his sugar-sweet love) inside him, and the thought of that, inside, and the movement of their souls within him, within Raizel, as he was covered, pressed into soft sheets and gazed at with soft wonder by the presence reaching deep into him, all-consuming in its gentleness.

He let his arms wrap around his, his Master, clasping Raizel against him. He couldn't help pressing against him, waves of craving and pleasant satiation pulsing through him from his still-lustful body and his soul, near-satiated by the contract.

Raizel kissed Frankenstein's lashes and felt a bit sorry when he withdrew his fingers as his bonded let out a cute somewhat displeased sound. But still, his hand slid down, slid down until they reached where Frankenstein really wanted to be touched--to connect their bodies as well as their humming souls. Raizel looked up once more to see Frankenstein's flushed face, then he pressed into his warm and desperately willing body.

Frankenstein tried to hold still for his Master even as another wave swept through him at the thought of his kind Master giving him what he craved. He had never been taken before, but even if it was nothing but painful, it was impossible for the pain to drown out the pulse of the contract that even now had him breathing ragged breaths, closing his eyes and arching his neck. This adoration, it was so much. He trembled, let himself tremble knowing that his Master would soothe him, and let himself relax around Raizel's fingers, focusing on the knowledge of his Master's presence and feeling his breathing slow and calm.

Raizel whispered to him through the bond, not words but feeling, presence. They were nothing but here, together, close as Raizel carefully moved his fingers within Frankenstein's endearingly trembling body. And it was endearing because he had never seen someone so proud so willingly vulnerable and it was a sight to behold, a sight only for himself. Raizel withdrew his fingers, and thought about asking once more if this was what Frankenstein wanted, as Frankenstein had asked him the first time, but no, that was foolish; Frankenstein knew what he wanted, he had made it known, and he wanted it now. So Raizel positioned himself above Frankenstein and slowly, carefully, pressed forward into him with a sigh.

They were hot, bodies burning, hearts on the brim of bursting. Raizel pressed them close, almost as close as their souls, buried his face in Frankenstein's always sweet smelling hair and neck. Perhaps...another bite. He bit down, and Frankenstein was decadence Raizel knew he didn't deserve.

Raizel biting down sent the bond surging into fresh life. Bond and blood - he would have no difficulty controlling Frankenstein. Frankenstein would be helpless in his grasp, unable to even want to stop him, and instead Raizel used it to know just what he craved and give it to him. He wrapped his legs around his now-Master. Closer. Deeper. More, no, everything.

Raizel breathed out feeling Frankenstein encompass him. He moved; they rocked against, rocked with each other. He went deeply into Frankenstein as if trying to reach for his very heart. But oh, oh, Frankenstein had already gifted it to him. He could only hope to be worthy of it. Frankenstein had called him Master, but who was Raizel but a servant to Frankenstein's desires, at least in this moment? "Frankenstein," he whispered, he called. "Frankenstein," again and he pressed kisses up his neck, his jaw. And "Frankenstein" was all he could say because to say anything else would not be enough to describe the man beneath him but above him in every way.

That brave soul, so open and pliable and overflowing with willing surrender. Little gasps coming from him as he experienced the pleasure he gave Raizel, returned. He shook on the edge of too much but never wanted Raizel to stop.

They where rhythmic, in tune, souls singing, but "Will you let me hear you?" Raizel asked, and it was strange, to think that he was asking Frankenstein to be noisy, but there was no use hanging onto composure and elegance at the moment. Frankenstein had always kept his voice, his steps, his clothes, his everything in check. Elegant and composed, he put on a show for others, proved himself worthy, proved himself better, but now... Now, he wanted Frankenstein to allow him into that small space behind grandeur, wanted him to know that there was no need to guard himself with Raizel, because Raizel swore to guard him with his life.

Frankenstein couldn't help responding to Raizel's wistful tone, the quiet noble wanting to listen to him, the way he'd welcomed Frankenstein's intrusion into his life. He let his gasps become sounds - "Mas-" he said first and felt his cock twitch. No, if he said that aloud he wouldn't last long at all. But a noble's stamina, his own regeneration... Raizel could and would keep taking him patiently until he grew hard again.  
He was used to enduring Dark Spear's pain, but it was so hard to not give in entirely to this onslaught of pleasure. He hadn't wanted to come too soon for the sake of Raizel's pleasure, but the thought of Raizel using his sensitive and still so-willing body...

Raizel caught Frankenstein's lips, nipped at them. "Do as you like, Frankenstein." He hovered next to his ear. "Please," he whispered. Raizel had been exceedingly greedy tonight and had taken much more than he deserved, and Frankenstein had given and given so much. Wouldn't he take his own pleasure? It was the least Raizel could give, when all he had to give to Frankenstein was himself. Raizel trailed his hand down to Frankenstein's wet cock, stroked him, and if only he knew how to give him more.

"I love it," he confessed. "Master..." He thrusted up into Master's hand helplessly, so helpless in his grasp and it made him scream as he gave up control, gave up his pride, gave up everything and it felt so good in his Master's hands. He let out tired whimpers as those hands continued to move on him, that body continued to move inside him, and he needed Raizel to keep going, needed his Master to take his pleasure from him.

Raizel swallowed. For a moment, he paused; for a moment, he was confused. To take, to give, do one to do the other. He felt Frankenstein's desires through the bond, felt them mix with his own and, oh. Raizel gripped Frankenstein tighter, moved just a bit faster. "Frankenstein," he said softly, a half-moan. "Give me everything." Give him his voice, his will, his control, his pleasure, because Frankenstein had called him Master. Raizel leaned low, spoke low. "That's an order, Frankenstein."

Frankenstein closed his eyes, felt a whimper pass his lips. Raizel, god, his god, Raizel! What would he give him wasn't the question, he would give him anything, everything. What more could he do for his master, than open his mind with unused muscles, curl his soul together with his until he felt faint, as thought he might slip out of his body but incapable of caring, clench around him.

"Master..." He wanted to surrender unto him every pleasure, to make up for his time spent alone. So alone, and he trembled at the thought, remembering his own loneliness and how it eased, united with his Master. He wanted to be kept here, a captive in iron chains, never allowed to leave to the world outside where he would suffer again. Perhaps his Master would pet him and remind him that it was for his own good, he thought, and shuddered at the thought of being treated like his own captives. Even being cut and sampled - if it was Raizel, it would be alright.

"Master!" he called, and came.

Raizel gasped, forgot how to breathe. Frankenstein, my Frankenstein. To be allowed to call him his own... it was beyond reason, beyond thought, so all Raizel could do was feel him. Feel Frankenstein tremble, feel him constrict around him. Feel him want to give, want to be used even as he spent himself. Raizel stopped, withdrew from Frankenstein. He shifted forward, rose up to his knees and looked softly down at wide blue eyes. He was positioned dangerously close to Frankenstein's lips. "Take me, Frankenstein." As Raizel had already taken him.

Frankenstein reached out and took those lips, tired and confused and trusting enough to let loose another whimper. He couldn't take Raizel, not yet, but he wanted to give Master what he wanted now. Or did Master want to experience what Frankenstein felt now, the bliss of utter surrender? Yes, yes, he should give him this, it was too wonderful not to share with his master. He trembled at the thought of it and the memories of last night, Raizel trembling beneath him with kiss-bitten lips.

Raizel kissed back, deeply, roughly, rougher than he would have liked, but he was willing to be this way just for Frankenstein. He bit down on his lip, just to draw a little blood. "Take me, Frankenstein," he repeated, breathy. "Take me here," Raizel said as he swiped a thumb over the blood on Frankenstein's lip. Raizel easily rolled them over, Frankenstein pliant though somewhat surprised, and backed away so that Frankenstein's head was between his legs, his lips a breath away from Raizel's own erection. Raizel stared down and waited to be served.

He bowed his head to nuzzle, breathing in the scent of his master. Right now, he mostly smelled of Frankenstein's desire. How appropriate, when he was what Frankenstein desired most of all. He felt as though he should be glowing, lit from within with happiness and his Master's power. Smiling softly, he lifted his head enough to take Master in with lips and tongue. He had never done this before either, but he counted himself a quick study.

Raizel sighed, once again encompassed by Frankenstein. He reached down, tangled his fingers in locks of gold, brushed a few stray strands from Frankenstein's face, and he was so lovely. Small sounds left Raizel as Frankenstein pressed his nimble tongue to him; he hoped Frankenstein could hear the breaths, the moans, the gasps, hear how well he was doing, because no matter what Frankenstein did, he was much more than enough.

Frankenstein licked, suckled and tentatively took Raizel - Master - in deeper. He had a degree of control over his reflexes, but he wanted to be sure he wouldn't gag around Master's length. Master would be sad if he caused Frankenstein discomfort, even though he didn't have to care. He did care. He cared so much, and Frankenstein wanted to give him every pleasure in return.

Raizel shivered. "Frankenstein..." Lovely, sweet, profound Frankenstein. So willing, too willing, oh, what would happen if he gave too much? Too much to a world, to a someone who would use him up and toss him aside? No, no, that wasn't to happen; Raizel would not allow that to happen. Perhaps, if he took more, if he held onto everything Frankenstein had, he could keep him safe. Raizel unwittingly raised his hips, pressed down on Frankenstein's head, because he wanted more. Another sigh, a shudder.

Frankenstein felt Raizel's want in the way his thighs tensed, in the pressure on his head, in their bond, and his own want echoed it. There was water in his eyes again, some of it from the effort of having his mouth and throat stretched open, the rest from how it felt to be wanted. For him to be wanted, not the power others could take from their use of him. He'd given Master the power to use him, and all Master did was what pleased them both. Left Frankenstein feeling full yet hungering for more. He hummed with pleasure, because Master wanted his voice as well as the singing in their bond, and hoped it pleasured his love.

And it did, deeply so. A sharp breath from Raizel. He arched, his lashes fluttering, his fingers curling tightly around Frankenstein's hair. For a moment, he wondered if it was all right, but Frankenstein looked at him and he knew that it was. Because it was Frankenstein's turn to take, and Raizel finally let go, spilled all he had into Frankenstein, let his own pleasure rush down the bond. "Franken--stein..." he managed as his he gazed down, his own face warm, smooth sweat on his skin.

He let Raizel go slowly, reluctantly, and laid his head on Raizel's thighs, feeling the heat from them. His hips twitched in the aftershock of that pleasure, his lips twitched with a smile knowing he'd made his Master feel so very good. He still felt more languid than lustful, after all his Master had given him, all the soul and pleasure his Master had let him take and treasure.

He wondered if his Master might stroke his hair, and hummed at the reminder of how his Master who never asked for anything had tugged at it, betraying how much he wanted Frankenstein.

Raizel sat up fully, careful not to disturb Frankenstein. He sighed, looked softly down at his bonded, his beloved, bed-loved, and how could he deny him anything? Anything at all. He placed his hand in Frankenstein's hair once again, parted a few damp locks from his eyes, ran his fingers through, ran them down his scalp.

Frankenstein let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes to smile up at his Master. He felt so right, so whole. Broken and now glued back together, with his Master's soul to fill the cracks. Completed. And even now his gentle master indulged his need to be neat, soothed him with patient touches.

"Frankenstein," Raizel began, softly, because in this moment, he seemed so delicate. The man whose lover was the grieving souls of a tragic weapon, who took it upon himself to carry humanity, to carry the whole world on his shoulders---Raizel was afraid his own voice, too loud, may break him. "I am yours, for as long as I breathe, and longer." Frankenstein's hair was soft. "You have me, Frankenstein." And anything and everything he could give.

"Yours," Frankenstein whispered, and turned his head to kiss at his Master's thigh. To think that Master was his... he couldn't hold on to the things he loved. He couldn't bear the thought of destroying Raizel to keep him from falling into the hands of his enemies.

Raizel smiled softly, sadly. It was quiet, only breathing and brushing. A while passed and they stayed like that for a while more. If only they could have stayed forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps it was the way the curtains fluttered, the way the birds chirped or the trees moved that gave Raizel a feeling. Or, no, it was the way Frankenstein had looked at him then at the tea when he brought in his usual cart of sweets. The way he smiled when he left the room and the way the steam stopped rising from Raizel's cup and Frankenstein was still nowhere to be found.

He sensed no distress from Frankenstein. Was his bonded in his laboratory, enjoying his experiments? But he would be upset to find he'd neglected Raizel. Unless there was a reason Raizel's tea was allowed to grow cold.

Frankenstein lay under the gazebo, waiting for Master with a slight frown on his face, making sure that no one else was nearby. The surprise was for Master's eyes only, so it would be a pity if Ragar came along and Frankenstein was forced to kill him.

Raizel glanced at the tea once more, glanced at the window. It was warm outside. Perhaps Frankenstein had decided to enjoy the clear day, but... no, he wouldn't have left him alone for that. Raizel peered down their bond. A fleeting feeling of something soft, something warm, something--someone beckoning.

Raizel got up from the couch.

Frankenstein's expression softened when he felt Master reaching for him to see if he was alright: Master knew that Frankenstein wouldn't leave him alone for that long without a good reason. Something worth missing the chance to serve Master a warm drink, cup Master's cheek in his hand and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Frankenstein wouldn't be able to do those things like this, with his hands secured to one of the gazebo's posts, but he thought it would be worth it.

A few dried leaves cracked beneath his footsteps as Raizel walked around behind the manor, lifted a few branches here and there from his face as he neared where Frankenstein was waiting. Then, flowers, speckled light, arching leaves. And silk, overflowing, swaying, clean and white as the lilies Frankenstein had once shown him (and how much he had shown him!). Raizel looked around, looked forward, and there was his Frankenstein, his hands caught.

Frankenstein couldn't help that there was some triumph in it when he smiled at the sight of his Master. Master had left the Mansion. Master never left the mansion, but Frankenstein had hoped that Master would come find him, and here he was. Out in the fresh air, in the middle of the garden Frankenstein had planted, just for this. But oh, his Master was the most beautiful flower here.

The rose was the king of flowers, and Master was the king of his heart.

Everything in this garden existed for Master's sake.

Raizel breathed in the air, felt the space Frankenstein made just for them--just for him. It was...too much, too lovely, Frankenstein, a giver, and his gifts were endless. Raizel approached him, touched the cords that bound Frankenstein to the post, like an offering on a sparkling altar. After some silence, just looking, just feeling, "Would you like my assistance, Frankenstein?"

"Yes, Master," Frankenstein said, lowering his eyes sweetly. Yes, so much, but not with the cords. He felt giddy, like the kind of teenage maiden sacrificed to the gods in tales of evil pagan rituals. His Master deserved worship, but not because Raizel was a god. No, that was not why he was Frankenstein's savior.

That was not why Frankenstein ached to give himself to Raizel for the taking.

Raizel was not unaware of his own naiveté; had Frankenstein done this without first demonstrating the safety, the surety of being bound on Raizel a few nights ago, Raizel would have ripped the cords away, but now, "What would you like assistance with?" he asked as he trailed his hand down a lock of Frankenstein's hair, curled it around his fingers, let it slip through.

Frankenstein tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes as Raizel played with his hair, then half-opened them again, looking up at Raizel languid and peaceful and somehow daring. Brave enough to risk the slim chance that Raizel might say no and tempting Raizel to have the courage to say yes, to stay outside with Frankenstein instead of shut away in the manor. "Take me," he said, rather than indulge in wordplay. (What would Raizel do with a sacrificial maiden? Let her go, probably still confused and not grasping the concept. Then let her stay in the manor when she wanted to be by his side instead of go back to whoever forced her here as a sacrifice. The way Frankenstein came here as a sacrifice for humanity.)

He'd thought his ancestors were taken in by noble allure, not knowing any better than to think that nobles had wisdom and virtue to go with their power and beauty, but... If more nobles were as honorable as Gejutel or tried as hard as Ragar - even if there was no one as perfect as Raizel - then if there were humans as lost as Frankenstein, he could see why he was not the first to make a True Contract.

Not the first to offer themselves up to a God who had never asked for any sacrifices and ask for one more gift from the one who let them stay.

Raizel climbed fully onto the wide, bedlike lounge, soft sheets rustling, dipping. He pressed a kiss to Frankenstein's hair, to his forehead. Frankenstein, always eager, always giving, Frankenstein. It was fortunate that Raizel had realized, as belated as he was, that he could never get enough, could always want--could allow himself to want more. Fleetingly, too fleeting, he placed kisses on Frankenstein lips, on his neck, because he also wanted to be wanted back, as he was just as much Frankenstein's as Frankenstein was his.

Frankenstein made a low, "Mmm," showing his pleasure and relief that Master was here, that he was willing to do this for Frankenstein. That he was willing to let Frankenstein do this for him. He still felt a spark of delight at the thought that he had offered himself and Raizel accepted. He wanted so much to be kept by Raizel's side, and his chosen Master wanted Frankenstein to be by his side enough not just to keep Frankenstein in the manor, but to leave it to be with him.

Someday, he would need to return to his quest. Someday he would identify the criminals among the clan leaders. Someday he would return to the human world to wipe out the traitors to humanity and they would _stay_ wiped out this time, without nobles to tempt others with that terrible parody of a True Contract.

The vampires enraged him even more that he knew that contracts were meant to be the proof of love - to twist that into utter contempt, something that reduced humans to animals instead of elevating them as equals?

Humans wouldn't be fully equal until they were no longer dependent on nobles for power, but he could understand why nobles like Gejutel had assumed that nobles would only make contracts with humans for the good of humanity, that any mutants created had to be born of human greed, for what noble with a true contract could wish _that_ fate upon the human tied to their soul? When anything that harmed the human's will would harm them as well, it was downright suicidal. And not only if Frankenstein or the nobles loyal to the Lord caught them at it.

His Master came close enough that Frankenstein could nuzzle at his face, and held his cheek so Frankenstein could press his lips to it. Frankenstein let himself dream of the day when he had finally fulfilled his duty to humanity and he truly could give himself up entirely to Raizel.

Raizel could take all of him, could make him forget that his people were dying out there. Frankenstein had given everything up to him, but Raizel had taken as they both wished and then returned it all, held nothing back. Someday, the thought of existing only for his beloved could be more than a fantasy. For now, he felt silken hair sliding on his cheeks, felt the cushion beneath him bend with the weight of the one he loved and let himself live that dream of the future.

Raizel continued to kiss, like dewdrops, as he slid his hands beneath Frankenstein's jacket, felt his frame, felt his flesh through his shirt. He pressed them closer, pressed Frankenstein down into what soft altar he had prepared, but he would not touch Frankenstein quite yet. Frankenstein had offered himself, sacred, divine, too precious to touch, too precious to spoil, at least at the moment. Raizel's hand slid down Frankenstein's thigh, brushed him chastely in between his legs, but no more than that, because Raizel was willing to take, willing to want, but oh, he wanted to be wanted, just as Frankenstein did.

Frankenstein had learned that Master felt no urgency in sex, no driving need to come - other than his desire for the pleasure of it, and how much more his desire for Frankenstein's pleasure. His Master loved to touch Frankenstein slowly, gently, inflaming him even as the closeness warmed both their hearts. Sometimes he even pouted cutely when Frankenstein grew desperate enough to beg him for more, not wanting it to be over.

He wouldn't do that this time, Frankenstein promised himself. This was all for Master. If it took days for Master to have his way with him, those were days Master would spend outside in a beautiful garden, smelling the wind scented by the flowers of this garden and feeling the sun.

He told himself that and still closed his legs, trying to trap the hand that caressed his thigh.

Raizel had always been careful in his decisions: what shirt to wear, which dessert to eat first, where to touch Frankenstein. Where to drag his fingers, where to place kisses, when to take him, because Frankenstein was always careful in everything he did for him. This time, outstandingly so. The flowers, their colors; the silk, how it felt on their skin. The gazebo, how long did it take to build? This time, Raizel would spend as much time on him as he had on Raizel.

After all, it was the least he could do.

"Master," Frankenstein whispered softly, and tilted his lips up for a kiss. Before he became too distracted, he should tell him that _, "If someone comes, pull the cord next to you and curtains will drop down around the gazebo."_ The thought of someone else seeing Raizel's bare skin! If that happened because of his plan to lure Raizel outside, he would deserve to die!

Raizel nodded, smiled. Dearest Frankenstein, always so careful, and he finally kissed his lips with teeth and tongue. Raizel caressed his thighs, caressed between them, only a breath more boldly, moved back up his abdomen, his chest.

Relaxing, Frankenstein opened his lips for his Master's tongue, embraced it with his own. He could feel the sun's warmth on his skin and the warmth of his Master's body through their clothing. His hands grasped at nothing: he _wanted_ to touch Master, give him pleasure, but that torment was a pleasure of its own. It reminded him that he was tied down, reminded him that he could do this, play at helplessness because he could _trust_ his Master that much. The delight made him moan into his Master's mouth. Well, that and the hand playing with one of his nipples.

Raizel pulled away, breathed for a moment, breathed Frankenstein in. He shifted forward, resting his knee between Frankenstein's legs, rested it against him. He felt Frankenstein's nipples react to his touch, heard him respond, and it was cute; it was sweet. So much so, Raizel couldn't help but nip and taste, his teeth not breaking the skin of Frankenstein’s neck.

Frankenstein shuddered at the bite, he couldn't help it. Not only did it feel good, it reminded him of their contract and forced an, "Ah!" from his mouth. His hips rose up with the movement of his body, and he pressed against Raizel's knee. Then did it again, hissing softly, knowing his Master would withdraw it or scold him with a sigh if he minded Frankenstein taking the liberty.

But he didn't, didn't at all. How could Raizel mind when Frankenstein was being particularly cute? No, Frankenstein could take far more than just liberty, but in this moment, underneath these curtains, these lights, these trees, Raizel was the one who needed to take. Take Frankenstein for Frankenstein. He nuzzled Frankenstein's neck, pressed his thigh against his erection. "Frankenstein," Raizel whispered. "My Frankenstein" because he had given himself, and Raizel lost his fingers in Frankenstein's hair, gave it a pull, exposed a smooth, willing neck, pressed his lips to it. Kisses and bites but no blood, because Frankenstein was pristine, was marble, was deified.

"Master," he murmured when Raizel let him catch his breath after the onslaught. And most of all, _"My_ Master." The one he had chosen, the only one to whom he would bare his neck and his soul. So kind to allow Frankenstein to press against him, take pleasure from the contact between them. He opened his side of the contract, feeling his soul bloom like a flower, opening to accept his Master's every thought. And perhaps, if he was lucky, his Master's wishes? Could he grant them the way Master was granting his?

Raizel felt the surge of souls, felt them entwine. "Frankenstein, I wish only for you," and he had already given himself, given more, much more than Raizel dared to even hope for. What a gift, what an offering, and Raizel was filled with a wistfulness at all that was laid before him for his...consumption; too much, but this was Frankenstein's desire, so Raizel bent down, undid Frankenstein's shirt, felt his skin, warmed by body against body, sun against sheets, felt every inch because any less would be to insult the gift giver. Yes, Raizel would appreciate him thoroughly.

Frankenstein had become this beautiful to force nobles to take him seriously - he couldn't have been mistaken for one of them with the usual human imperfections. Or that was the excuse he'd given himself - he was not above vanity, and those imperfections, any imperfections, bothered him. He was even gladder of it now, that he'd made of himself a feast for the eyes. For Master's eyes. Master's hands traced over his skin, enjoying him with touch as well, and he shivered at the coolness of them against his skin. He felt a little guilty, knowing how warm Master's hands were when he had a fresh cup of tea. He did regret allowing Master to go without that warmth.

Not as much as he should, when Master was still bending his knee for the sake of Frankenstein's pleasure, but he did regret it.

Raizel smiled, his lips on Frankenstein's neck, on his collarbone, on his chest, because indeed Frankenstein was beautiful, was flawless, because he was Frankenstein and no one else, the only one who had wished to protect him. Dear protector of humanity and keeper of Raizel's soul; oh, what Raizel would do to keep him, take him, _take me._ Raizel licked Frankenstein's nipple, teased the other with his hand, and he was careful, concentrated, slow, because Frankenstein deserved all of his time and more.

How could anyone not want to protect a treasure like Raizel? The Lord also wanted him to be happy, which made Frankenstein feel jealous until he rubbed against his Master and reminded himself who was here (him) and who was not here, underneath the sweetest noble, the sweetest being in existence.

Frankenstein let his hips fall into a regular rhythm, although he tried to keep it gentle, not something that might inflame him enough he failed to appreciate Raizel's gentle touches.

Raizel listened to the sound of Frankenstein's breathing, heard it pick up, heard the way his hair rustled as it swept his shoulders, saw his wrists momentarily strain against the cord, not too hard because it was just a cord and Frankenstein could have easily broken it. But he chose not to, and Raizel had to be in awe, because he trusted him enough to stay tied down. Raizel trailed down, moved his lips over Frankenstein's belly, and they reached the fabric of his pants. He pressed his lips there, his head between Frankenstein's legs. Even through the fabric, Raizel felt Frankenstein's want, nuzzled it.

Despite everything they had indulged in, how much Master had indulged him, Frankenstein hesitated to press up now. To rub his cock in Master's face... the thought made him want to cover his face in shame. But that soft nuzzle, the warm breath, the fact it was Master doing it...The sound that escaped him was hesitant but wanting.

And Frankenstein wanted him, wanted Raizel for Raizel, not just whatever sexual gratification he could give, but whatever Raizel could give, he would do it gladly, so Raizel pressed more firmly against Frankenstein, breathed out, opened his mouth, felt his shape with his teeth, with his tongue, hoping to draw more sounds from Frankenstein, because it was too rare that Frankenstein expressed want for himself. He was always so selfless.

Frankenstein shuddered, desperately trying to keep his hips from twitching up into the warm breath he felt from that mouth. He wished he had stripped naked before tying himself up, his pants felt too tight. Perhaps he should tailor some for when he tried to seduce his Master...

Raizel looked up, his hands low on the weaving muscles of Frankenstein's back, his mouth lower still, and Raizel smiled though Frankenstein wouldn't have been able to see it. Raizel kissed at him, sucked, traced him with a firm tongue. He closed his eyes, bit around Frankenstein, gentle because he did not want to risk puncturing Frankenstein's clothing as he knew how important it was to him to look presentable, showable, safe.

At the moment, Frankenstein almost wanted Raizel to tear his pants off, but knew he would never. He respected Frankenstein and his need to have his things intact too much, and it made him adore his Master even more even though at the moment it was separating him from his Master's soft lips.

Raizel felt the fabric grow damp, heard Frankenstein's soft sounds, heard how the sheets rustled as Frankenstein's legs tensed, how they bent, his feet pressed down on the bed. Raizel lifted his head, rested on his cheek against Frankenstein as he stared up. Frankenstein's blushing face, his parted lips, his arms only partly obscuring his sweetly honest expression. And Frankenstein was laid bare before him, even as he remained clothed.

Perhaps he should change that, bare Frankenstein's body as he bared his soul, so Raizel sat up, undid Frankenstein's pants, pulled them off, folded them and set them aside.

Frankenstein's blush deepened when he saw his Master looking up at him from where he lay, resting his head on Frankenstein's body. His Master was so sweet, how was he supposed to bear it? His shy Master drinking in the sight of him as though Frankenstein was his window out into the world... And now his kind master was taking his pants off. His Master took such good care of him, Frankenstein wasn't sure his heart could take it.

He let out a groan as he was freed from his pants, the fabric pulled down carefully, reminding him of the sleeves still bunched around his wrists where the bindings kept his shirt from being removed entirely.

Frankenstein's skin was warm, was smooth with silky sweat. Raizel settled once more between Frankenstein's legs, tentatively touched his erection with his fingers, breathed on it, kissed up its length, kissed up Frankenstein's body so that he was again face to face to Frankenstein, and he bit and licked at his neck. Raizel pressed himself, rubbed himself against Frankenstein's bare body; he hoped the fabric of his own clothes was soft enough.

As much as Frankenstein loved the touch of Master's bare skin against his, it still made his heart melt that he was naked while his Master was still clothed. He wished that Master wasn't self-sacrificing, that he would put himself first once in awhile, but the fact he was so focused on Frankenstein's pleasure... if only it wasn't because he was neglecting his own. Frankenstein rubbed up against his Master where it felt best, tried to enter a rhythm despite how distracting the attention paid to his neck was, so that his Master would experience some of the same pleasure he gave Frankenstein. "Master," he said, and continued silently, _"What about you?"_

Raizel bit down at that, let his teeth, his fangs sink into Frankenstein's skin. “ _This is enough for me.”_ Always enough. Because what greater honor, what greater pleasure than to please his bonded, serve his servant? To lavish attention to his body, his soul, his being? There was nothing greater than to worship his worshipper, someone far more deserving than him.

Frankenstein whined a little, his fingers clutching at the air, aching to touch his Master. He should have known this would happen, he thought, feeling ashamed and angry at himself. He could please Master another time to make up for it, but it hurt to see his Master think so little of himself. He wrapped his legs around his master, embraced him with his soul as well, trying not to let the pleasure of the renewed bond distract him as Master took his blood.

Ah, Raizel withdrew, felt Frankenstein around all around him. He looked at him, caressed his face, and he was worried. "I did not...intend to upset you." But regardless of his intentions, he had been foolish. Frankenstein did nothing but love him, gave him everything, and wanted him to take and take more, because he had seen something in Raizel. And who was Raizel to judge his judgment? Raizel backed away a bit, stripped himself of his own clothes. He was to give Frankenstein what he wanted and to take all that he could.

Suppressing a groan at the loss of contact with his Master, Frankenstein still smiled as he watched Raizel strip, carefully folding his shirt and pants and placing them on the wide railing that went around the gazebo. His master was so careful and neat, took such good care of everything. Even Frankenstein. Frankenstein didn't mind begging, wouldn't mind debasing himself, to get Raizel to apply that same careful attention to himself even just once.

Not that he minded watching that body as it was revealed to him, but it was the soul, oh that beautiful soul, that mattered more than anything.

Raizel stood still for a moment, his hands on the railing, his eyes on...everything. And everything was beautiful, a calm breeze, a quiet rustling of leaves, of petals, and...Frankenstein, center stage, a solar system. Raizel neared him again, like gravity, covered him with himself. Oh, but closer, and he pressed their cocks together, breathed out Frankenstein's name as they rubbed against each other, making each other slick.

He'd made such a beautiful garden for his Master to look at, made him an octagon of glassless windows, surrounded by beautiful views, and although he saw his Master appreciating the sight, knew it pleased him, still his Master came to him.

Came to him and held them together, gave them _both_ pleasure, and Frankenstein loved him so much he was frantic with it, writhing beneath his Master. His everything.

Raizel sighed, felt Frankenstein's body ripple under him, rubbing against him. They moved, grinded, breathed. But Raizel knew they wanted more. As lovely as the contact was, he rose up, lifted himself off Frankenstein only to push higher, closer, shifted so that he was practically straddling Frankenstein's head. He looked down, a bit shy, a bit embarrassed, surely blushing. But he was commanding "Will you have me, Frankenstein?" Will he pleasure him? Worship him? Raizel placed a hand on Frankenstein's crown.

"Yes, Master," he said, knowing he was blushing himself. Seeing Master look stern for his sake, playing this game for his sake, but letting Frankenstein pleasure him because Frankenstein had asked? Now he shivered from excitement, feeling his hands bound tighter with the cloth of his sleeves surrounding his wrists, wondering how far they would go in this play. He carefully took the tip of Master into his mouth, urged along by the hand caressing his hair.

A small movement, a small sound. Raizel breathed deeply, slowly, his eyes half closed. Frankenstein's tongue and lips were soft, warm, inviting. And Raizel would always accept an invitation from his bonded. So he pressed forward of his own accord, slid further into Frankenstein's mouth, Frankenstein's throat. Raizel tilted his head, sighed again, but looked down with tender concentration.

Frankenstein hoped the liquid heat of his mouth felt good to his master. 'Liquid heat' - that was how all of him felt right now, meeting his Master's warm eyes. That care, that tenderness, all for him, and it inflamed just as much as it soothed. He wanted to raise a hand to stroke his Master's thigh, reassuring him that it was alright to press deeper, to claim Frankenstein's mouth because Frankenstein truly did want to do this for him.

He could have pressed in with brutal force and quickness, and Frankenstein would only have moaned around him, but it was because Master would never act without thinking of him that Frankenstein could imagine such seeming carelessness and feel desire instead of betrayal.

Raizel blinked, glanced to the side, glanced back. He saw, felt what Frankenstein desired and Frankenstein desired to serve with all of his being, desired Raizel to be swift, decisive, sure in his actions, in their safety. But Raizel was nervous. 'Was it all right?' he had thought to ask, but that would have meant that he was not sure, and Frankenstein was not hesitant in his servitude. "Frankenstein," Raizel said, Raizel warned, as he stroked Frankenstein's hair just a moment before he pushed his hips forward, pushed Frankenstein's head towards himself. He withdrew a bit, pushed again, deeper.

Frankenstein moaned around him, partially to encourage his so-kind Master. His Master was so very sweet, sometimes he couldn't stand it. Perhaps Master would let Frankenstein bring him to completion just like this, and then curl around Frankenstein and stroke him while Frankenstein basked in his Master's pleasure? Or would Raizel withdraw with reluctance and use the oil on the nearby table to enter him, wanting to share pleasure with Frankenstein? His quick mind considered hypothesis after hypothesis, all of them only inflaming him further.

A soft moan. Frankenstein was hot, was willing, and Raizel hoped he could feel how content he made him, as he caught glimpses of Frankenstein's fantasies. Oh, if only he could fulfill all of them, but they had time, and Raizel had promised to himself to give Frankenstein all of it, all of what belonged to him. But for now, Raizel gripped Frankenstein's hair just a bit tighter and thrusted a bit faster, rhythmically, chasing his own pleasure and letting it electrify the bond.

His bonded moaned around him, longer and deeper, feeling more precome seep from both their cocks.

Raizel shuddered, shivered. Swallowed, moaned. Faster still, dragging himself against Frankenstein's tongue, pressing against the walls of his throat, made Frankenstein take all of him.

Raizel looked down, and saw Frankenstein solely concentrated on him, his eyes downcast, doing his best to breathe; Raizel could feel the ragged breathing on his own skin.

When Frankenstein had tea and Raizel, or training with Ragar and Gejutel to think of, then he could smile. When he didn't have those to focus on, he was always thinking. Thinking of his duty, of the humans dying while the days went by. To Raizel, before Frankenstein, time was measureless. To Frankenstein, it flowed by on a river of innocent blood. Raizel's duty cost him blood and forced him to spill it, but oh, Frankenstein deserved so much better than to be eaten away by a Noblesse's fate. Raizel could not deserve Frankenstein's service, not ever, but Frankenstein deserved to lie here in the sunlight, thinking only of how much pleasure it gave him to make someone happy.

For now, Frankenstein's attention was solely on Raizel, and Raizel's on Frankenstein. That was all they needed; that was their entire world. "Frankenstein," Raizel called, praised, prayed. Warm and wet, Frankenstein's lips glistened with saliva, with Raizel's fluids, and Raizel thrusted a bit more boldly, a bit more quickly, deeply. A bit more, and he was close.

Frankenstein moaned, moving his tongue against Raizel, doing everything he could to give his Master pleasure. They both had better than human stamina, so he didn't have to worry about extending Master's pleasure. Not unless that was what Master wanted, of course. Frankenstein lost himself in thoughts of slowly, slowly arousing Master, wringing pleasure from every inch of his body. Oh, so that was why Master wanted to do that to him.

Raizel gasped, pulled back but still came in Frankenstein's mouth with a tremble. He let out a shaky breath, withdrew, bent down, and pressed his forehead to Frankenstein's. And before Frankenstein could swallow because Raizel knew he would, "Wait," he said. Raizel touched Frankenstein's face, red and warm, touched his fingers to his still wet lips. "Open," he ordered.

Surrender ran through him and he opened his mouth wide even though he wanted to swallow at the sight of Master's red face. It was too much, too adorable.

Raizel watched with wide eyes, pressed his fingers in, pressed them down on Frankenstein's tongue. He felt his warm exhale as he held onto that tongue between two fingers, slick and dripping with saliva and come...Raizel's, and Raizel stared with wonder, with a deep blush. Frankenstein had allowed such a thing, his own mouth coated in what was in Raizel. It was...dirty, and Raizel couldn't help but appreciate it. So he drew his fingers out, allowed what coated them to run down Frankenstein's chin, spread it on Frankenstein's chest, ran it down his skin. "You're a mess," Raizel whispered.

"Only for you, Master," he said, eyes half-lidded. "Only for you." He felt not contaminated but _marked,_ and it sent a shudder through him.

He yearned for Raizel, but the cord wouldn't let him surge upward to press his lips to his.

Raizel had fallen for Frankenstein a long while ago, but he would fall ever deeper still, and in this moment, in any moment with him, Raizel would fall and fall, because Frankenstein's love was bottomless. He was wondrous, marked _, his._ "Only for you," Raizel repeated and kissed him deeply, tasting them both.

Frankenstein moaned into his lips, so grateful to Master for giving him what he craved... but then, he always did. Eventually. His Master hadn't told him to leave, hadn't refused the contract, had come outside for his sake... His Master gave him everything, and Frankenstein knew he didn't do it for gratitude or repayment, but for Frankenstein.

How could he not consider Raizel the most precious being in all the world? How could he not feel the skin tingle where he'd been marked and squirm with delight under his Master's warm body?

Raizel continued to kiss, to smother, as if he wanted to dive into Frankenstein's very soul, but he had done that already. They were submerged, no room to breathe, but it was a liberating sort of closeness. Raizel brushed his hand down even as it dragged what wetness was on them across Frankenstein's stomach, reached down to Frankenstein's erection, felt it twitch in his grip.

Just like Frankenstein had fantasized, he thought with delight, pressing up into Master's hand with utter abandon. There was no need to desperately cling to self-control, to refuse to show any crack, any sign his tormentors had managed to hurt him. His Master wouldn't hurt him and if he did, oh, if he made Frankenstein cry a single tear he would feel terrible, not glory in it. He had Frankenstein on his knees at his feet and instead of rejoicing in the conquest, thought he didn't deserve it. His so kind, too kind Master who owned Frankenstein's soul and his pleasure.

Raizel parted from Frankenstein's lips, kissed behind his ear, moved to lavish his neck. He continued to stroke him, but, was this enough? Enough for Frankenstein, who was greater than anything he had ever known? No, at least not in Raizel's glowing eyes. Through the bond, Frankenstein had given him utter control over his mind, his body, his feeling, and Raizel wanted Frankenstein to _feel._ So he bit down, drew blood, drank blood, flooded their connection with himself, and silently commanded Frankenstein's body to feel, to be ever more sensitive to Raizel's every movement. He wanted to saturate him with pleasure.

Frankenstein's toes curled, his fingers twitched and he began breathing hard, desperately trying to keep control. Every inch of him felt so _sensitive_ , feeling Master's clothing (made by Frankenstein, so he only had himself to blame) against his skin was so soft, with warm firmness within it, heated skin so close, and where Master's skin touched him! That bare hand, soft as velvet, made his hips buck up even as he tried to hold still so he didn't make Master fall off of him. He whimpered, only half in apology because _God,_ his God, so much.

A keening cry escaped him, and he panted for breath again.

"Frankenstein..." Raizel nuzzled his hair. "You're so...cute." And he blinked, felt a renewed blush, because Raizel realized he had never called him that before, at least not out loud. He hoped Frankenstein didn't mind the admission, as he kept pleasuring him insistently, relentlessly, Raizel's hand thoroughly coated in precome. Really, it was cute, too cute, and Raizel had to wonder at how Frankenstein had come to bare such sharp fangs when he had first walked into the mansion, first slipped on Raizel's shirt.

Frankenstein couldn't help blushing. Cute should have been a diminutive, should have meant 'lesser,' but to Master it meant he was adorable, someone who could be adored when Frankenstein could only be grateful that it was possible for his Master to love him so. To lower himself to touching oozing flesh, do something so _dirty_ to give a ruthless killer pleasure. His Master with his soft hands and sharp fangs that felt so good in his neck, the shock of pain bringing forth alarm that turned into trust and relief and love, because it only reminded him of how safe he was. With his Master's fangs in his neck, with vulnerable flesh in his Master's hands. His hips stuttered, his cheeks heated and he wished he could bring his hands down to cover them, hide his embarrassment, but perhaps his Master would like it better this way. Might think his graceless blushing was cute, and love him for it.

To be adored, to adore, they did that to each other, and it completed them, filled them to overflowing, over into each other. And over and over again, Raizel's hands, lips, body over Frankenstein's. They adored each other. Raizel rested his head on Frankenstein's shoulder, felt a tremor go through him, "Frankenstein, _submit, for me_." For and not to Raizel, because Raizel knew had already done the latter, but still he was holding back, Frankenstein had yet to submit to himself, to his own body, his own pleasure, even as his body was under Raizel's control. There was nothing to be ashamed of, and Raizel was honored to share Frankenstein's embarrassment. It was so rare to see him so.

He let out a keening cry as he came, then lay trembling beneath his Master. “ _Master, oh Master, oh…”_ When his head cleared his body was still so sensitive, so _aware_ of every inch where his Master pressed against him, of the warmth that invaded his soul, of love that made water gather in the corners of his eyes. _"Master..."_

Raizel was filled with a buoyant joy. _Frankenstein,_ more precious any flower in this precious garden, and he had shared himself with--fed himself to Raizel, absolutely gorged him, spoiled him beyond resolution but Raizel found his resolution in him. Raizel kissed him, continued to stroke him slowly, firmly a bit more, hoping to draw Frankenstein's pleasure out, draw everything out, because it was all so lovely.

Frankenstein whimpered for him, needing and vulnerable and wanting to show it, to him and only to him. "Master, I want to touch you, please," he begged breathlessly.

Even though Raizel was already touched, the sight, the sound of Frankenstein was terrible for his self control; he could only comply. Raizel hesitantly removed his hands from Frankenstein's body to reach up and rip away the cords. "Do what you will, Frankenstein," he said.

Frankenstein put his arms around his Master, held him tight. Clung to his rock. "Never let me go," he begged. "Never." _Yours, always yours,_ he said in their soul.

"Never," Raizel said, Raizel promised. He clung back to Frankenstein, wrapped an arm around his back, another on his head, and wished to shield him, keep him safe from the world. He stroked Frankenstein's hair, looked up at the sky, the leaves. He hummed in his soul, hoped to soothe Frankenstein, curled around his bright, vulnerable being. _Frankenstein, his Frankenstein, always_. Whatever gods may be, he hoped it stayed so. But whatever gods may be, Frankenstein was sure to surpass them. And Raizel was calm, because whatever Frankenstein wanted, he was sure to obtain, including Raizel.

His bonded nuzzled at his cheek, soul full of light, brilliant and beautiful and loving.

Frankenstein felt that pleasant languor, the peace that beckoned him to sleep in Raizel's arms. He wanted their bed, surrounded by the walls of their home, but he didn't want to move. If Master carried him he might tuck his head against Master's neck and perhaps nip gently at it, but it was tempting to fall asleep in the sun...

A breeze, flowers swayed, leaves hushed them both, and it was warm. Raizel held Frankenstein close, close enough to realize he was still messy (Raizel's own mess!). Quickly, he used a bit of power to dispel anything that clung to their bodies. He knew Frankenstein wouldn't quite approve, but for now, it was nice outside, and he didn't want to shift so as to dislodge Frankenstein. He leaned back a bit, against the railing, still holding Frankenstein to him. Raizel sighed, took in the sight of the garden, felt Frankenstein's steady, shallow breathing against his own chest. To rest in this place constructed of all the nice things Frankenstein wanted Raizel to have, it was peace beyond peace, serenity. Soft, warm, beckoning.

Raizel pulled the cord by him, and the curtains dropped with an elegant flourish.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to qdeanna for the editing assist and catching that a section failed to paste into the doc! It's thanks to her that this is 13K instead of 11.8.

The first thing that Frankenstein did, always, was carefully remove his Master's clothing. Not that Master was Master within this game they played, but always in his heart. It was even Master's will that they do this, so that he was sure that it was 'fair' and to be certain that Frankenstein wasn't ignoring his own wishes too much.

Remove the clothing his Master picked out so carefully and wrap him in a warm robe of fluffy white, enveloping Master in its folds until red eyes and black hair peeked out and Frankenstein smiled dotingly at how adorable Master looked in his care. It was almost enough to make him forget that Master was bare beneath the robe, that all Frankenstein would have to do was pull it back... But later, oh indeed, later. His trusting Master was to be savored.

He'd warmed the robe personally to be sure it was toasty warm for his sweet Master. His sweet, that was what he should call him for now.

Warm and savored, as Raizel had warmed and savored Frankenstein every waking moment, and every sleeping one as well, for when Raizel dreamed sweet dreams, Frankenstein was sweeter than tea. But now, he was awake, and very glad to be so in Frankenstein's soft care in soft robes, seated at the glass table.

Frankenstein sat down next to his sweet, pulling the bundle of him into his arms and didn't want to get up. So he reached out with his will to hmm, the freezer first, and pulled the door open and the tray towards them with his power. Normally he didn't use telekinesis to keep his enemies from finding out he had that power, but there were no enemies here, only his Master and twenty-four samples of ice cream, gelato, sorbet, custard, a cream puff and other sweet treats.

His sweet he reminded himself, not letting it show on his face as  he scolded himself. He would do a good job of playing at Master for his Master's sake.

Raizel looked down at the tray, at its colors and arrangements, and all the sugar in them couldn't match the sweet in the heart of the person who held him so close, so protectively. Too protectively, and for a moment, Raizel hesitated to look back up at Frankenstein, for if he saw him, saw how he had always outdone himself, Raizel would be overwhelmed. He was always overwhelmed. But no, he couldn't be that way now, couldn't push Frankenstein away. Frankenstein and Raizel leaned just a bit more into what a warm embrace. He was...beyond grateful, always.

"My sweet," Frankenstein said, and it came naturally with Raizel curling into him like this, oh, and it was an effort to suppress the blush at how cute it was. No, no, he had to be a properly composed Master, he reminded himself, calling a little cup and its little spoon into his hands instead of digging them past the fabric into Raizel's hair. "Open," he ordered, holding a small spoonful to his sweet's lips.

Raizel obeyed, parted his lips just enough for the spoon and then felt the cold on his tongue, the icecream slide down his throat. It tasted of tea from a far off dream. He let out a short, soft "hm" and felt the spoon gently slide out of his mouth. He looked up at Frankenstein, blushed a little, thought a little, and said, "More, please," because with Frankenstein, it was all right to ask for more. Though he still had to remind himself of this occasionally.

"Good," Frankenstein said to reassure him that he was being completely appropriate. Frankenstein wanted Raizel to ask for things... and in the context of the game, it made him think of Raizel sweetly begging, not because he was afraid or doubted Frankenstein, but because he wanted...

He held a spoon close to Raizel's lips, not quite touching them, hoping for a sight of that tongue, a cute little lick.

Raizel looked at the spoon in front of him, watched for a moment as the icecream sank a bit as it met the warmer air, his warmer breath, saw it begin to melt and a drop hung precariously onto the spoon. It would drip and make a mess, and Frankenstein was not fond of messes. So Raizel reached out his lips, his tongue, licked at the drop then swallowed down the rest of the ice cream.

Oh, Frankenstein could barely stand it. It was easy to be stern, dispassionate and masterful with his enemies, but despite all that practice acting it was so hard not to break character when he wanted to adore and worship his sweet Master so. It was an effort to keep his face straight as he reached out for the cream puff next and pressed it to his master's lips, slipping it through them when they parted for him.

Sweet and soft just like Frankenstein. But there was still a bit of cream on Frankenstein's fingers, and Raizel licked at it and no, he was wrong; Frankenstein was sweeter, was softer, and perhaps… Raizel ran his tongue over Frankenstein fingers a couple more times than necessary to clean them of sugar. He looked at Frankenstein's face, at his eyes, and oh, his precious Frankenstein, trying so hard for him, trying to be masterful when he had already mastered everything, and Raizel wanted to melt inside. Frankenstein gave him everything.

Raizel backed away from Frankenstein's hand, saw how his fingers glistened slightly with saliva. He hoped Frankenstein wouldn't mind too much.

Frankenstein rubbed his fingers against Raizel's cheeks gently and watched the glistening streaks disappear. Something else, something else for his sweet, but which? The ice cream macaron, for him to consume in a handful of small, delicate bites with teeth that would never draw Frankenstein’s blood unless he asked for it?

Raizel smiled, sighed, nuzzled Frankenstein's neck, and it was warm, a contrast to such cold treats but decadent still the same. He was glad Frankenstein was the one choosing what he should eat, because by the time Raizel could choose, everything would be melted, evaporated. Oh, but Frankenstein had already melted his heart, his soul, because he burned so much, so brightly, so safely. And Raizel was safe, here in Frankenstein's hold, held, kept. For Frankenstein was Raizel's keeper, and Raizel wanted to be kept here. He had already left him once, for so, so long, too long when he had promised to never let Frankenstein go.

Ah, Raizel buried himself in Frankenstein's neck, wrapped his arms around his torso. He had broken his promise; he was... _Sorry, I'm sorry._ Raizel blinked, backed away for a moment, afraid he had ruined the moment.

"No, my sweet," Frankenstein said, pulling him close again and stroking the warm fabric down his back. "Your affectionate nature is a delight." He could never see Master as a servant or a slave, but he could manage him seeing him as such a sweet little love, his sweet little love, when Raizel was so, so very adorable. Honest and open, Frankenstein's care freeing him from the need to maintain the dignity of the Noblesse.

Raizel sighed, relieved, and rested his head against Frankenstein's chest. He felt that hand run down his back, felt how close he was, felt how much Frankenstein loved him, adored him, worshipped him. Felt safe. Frankenstein treasured him so, treasured him so much it would shatter him if anything were to happen to Raizel. So, for the first time, Raizel feared death. He was the Noblesse, but he was in Frankenstein's care, was Frankenstein's comfort. Raizel was silent for a moment, feeling the warmth and closeness. Then, softly, "Will you save me, Frankenstein?" Save him from his very fate?

"Always." _Master._ "You are my most precious treasure, and I will never let you go," he promised, deciding on his own that one of the parts of this game would be that he had never allowed his sweet to escape him. That as Master he'd never allowed his dear one to leave his side even for a day, never for a year.

Raizel smiled. Frankenstein was far more capable; he would keep a promise Raizel could not. If anyone could save him, it would be him, because Frankenstein held fate in his hands, shaped it, and now, he held Raizel, held him close, kept him closer.

"Thank you," Raizel murmured even though Frankenstein never asked for thanks.

"Anything for you, my sweet," Frankenstein said, and pressed a piece of frozen mango to Raizel's lips before his words can risk the game. Hopefully they will be taken for indulgence instead of devotion.

Raizel took the mango into his mouth; ice cream and cream puffs and fruits and tarts, and... and everything. Yes, Frankenstein was his everything, was Raizel's entire world because Frankenstein had given him an entire world. Dressed him, taught him, fed him, doted on him, indulged him in all that was good. Raizel swallowed the mango and opened his mouth expectantly in a manner he hoped was cute.

Frankenstein thought Raizel was being extra adorable for his sake, but it was hard to be sure when his sweet was always so adorable. He pushed the robe back a bit to cup Raizel's cheek before taking another of the little spoons and holding it to his lips. He would give Raizel a taste of this, and perhaps a few more, but he wanted to do more than this now. But what? What would, what could match the warmth in his heart at the site of Raizel giving himself up to Frankenstein’s care?

And Raizel tasted this, tasted that, all sweet and lovely and loved. But, he had yet to taste what was sweetest of all. Frankenstein's hand was smooth, warm, firm against his cheek, against his neck, his shoulder as the robe was pushed a bit further down.

Raizel had eaten such an assortment of sweets, but Frankenstein had yet to taste _his_ sweet.

Frankenstein almost absently waved a hand and restored the lesser treats to the freezer. He could see Raizel's desire in those parted lips, and he wanted to taste them the way Raizel had tasted his own meager offerings.

Raizel was open, was pliant as Frankenstein bent down to kiss him, taste him, savor him. Their breaths met, danced until they were out of it. A moment to breathe. Raizel swallowed. "More, please," Raizel asked, because Frankenstein truly was too sweet.

Oh, how Frankenstein loved it when his Raizel asked things of him. It was well worth playing the Master just to hear his Master being so honest about his desires. "My sweet," he breathed, kissing Raizel's forehead.

Raizel hummed, pleased that Frankenstein was pleased. He leaned into the kiss, closed his eyes, and how much Frankenstein had presented to him! It was only fair that Raizel should present himself, because he knew what Frankenstein desired. So Raizel moved his hands to where the robe parted at his chest, pulled it down so that his shoulders were completely bare, his chest exposed, the fabric gathering at his waist and hanging loosely at his elbows. "Devour me, Frankenstein," because Frankenstein had already given himself for Raizel's own consumption. He hoped Frankenstein would allow him to do the same.

Frankenstein made the contract praying that Raizel would never let him go, and oh, like this he wanted the game to be real, for Raizel to be a sweet captive he would never release, so happy to belong to him. Even if it was a little uncomfortable to play at being Master when _Master_ was Master; like this, Master was free to be sweetly wanton, to guide Frankenstein to disrobe him to get at the soft skin inside. Frankenstein fastened his mouth to the side of Raizel's neck, groaning because of how badly he wanted to never let go.

Raizel held him close, let out a small sound, and he knew with all of his being that he was Frankenstein's. And like Frankenstein all those centuries ago, Raizel never wanted to be let go. _Drink from me_. "Please," he whispered, because he knew Frankenstein had fangs just as Raizel did, played at Master just as Raizel did, but unlike Raizel, he would succeed at keeping him.

Frankenstein's neck arched, his mouth opening as his fangs extended. He bit into Raizel hungrily, but was careful to take only the barest drop because his Master's blood was his life. He couldn't resist Raizel, not even like this. Especially like this, when Raizel was in his care. He parted the robe further and hurriedly opened his own clothing, moving to press them together and stroke because he truly couldn't wait. He'd intended a slow, coaxing seduction of a reluctant captive, but Raizel had given in to his own desires so sweetly...

The drop of soul he consumed would merge with the fragment of Raizel within him and return to his Master's soul, otherwise he would have whimpered as he bit, helpless to resist but pleading with his Master to release him, to retract the order to harm the one he loved more than his own will.

Raizel shivered, let out a breath. Even now, Frankenstein was so careful, so attentive, but Raizel wanted Frankenstein to drink him like a sacral wine because yes, his blood was his life, and his life was Frankenstein's; he would gladly lay it down for him, as Frankenstein would his own. Raizel tilted his neck a bit, better exposing it to Frankenstein's soft lips. "More," he asked, he moaned, because to have his soul move within Frankenstein's was ecstasy, was bliss, for what soul was more beautiful, more safe?

Frankenstein pressed his forehead against Raizel's neck, panting for breath and shaking with desire as his hand wrapped around heated flesh, his and Raizel's. "You tempt me," he said, voice hoarse, fangs already extended again and he shook with want. Having Master inside him, soul so much more than body... 'Yours,' he wanted to say, give in and obey and be utterly Raizel's, but that wasn't the game, although it grew harder to care.

Raizel hummed low in his throat, tried not to squirm in Frankenstein's grip, but still, he made an impatient sound. And Raizel blinked at that, because when had he ever been anything but patient? Watching seasons pass, watching nobles pass, watching people, and life, he had always been a watcher, a waiter, but that wouldn't make Frankenstein happy, so yes, he was tempting; he was seizing what he wanted, and what he wanted was Frankenstein. So Raizel pressed their bodies closer, coiled their souls tighter, let desire glide down their bond, placed a gentle hand on Frankenstein’s. "Please," he tried again, and he hoped he had begged sweetly enough, sweet enough for Frankenstein to consume him.

Frankenstein almost spasmed against him, his hand moving, moving again, unable to find a rhythm, control near broken by Raizel's words. "You tempt me so," he forced himself to whisper instead of whimper, and bit down, closing his eyes and focusing on letting Raizel flow through him, offering no impediment to Raizel's soul returning to him.

Raizel let out a little drawn out whimper, a whine, and it felt nice, felt great, to forget about dignity for a moment, because he knew Frankenstein would keep him to himself, felt it in that soul that seemed to vibrate with him. Raizel sighed, a soft moan. "Frankenstein," he whispered. "More," more everything, because it all felt so good, his fangs, his hands, his warmth, his soul. And it was all right to ask for more.

Frankenstein's hand moved on them, feeling Raizel's hand gripping his in need. He breathed harshly through his nose, trembling and knowing that it wasn't very masterful to come undone like this but he couldn't care, he needed and Raizel was sweetly begging for him, his sweet needed him and everything in him demanded he answer.

When Raizel felt Frankenstein's fangs retract and his lips pull away, he held Frankenstein's face with his hands, looked into those blue, burning eyes, pressed their foreheads together. "More," Raizel whispered again and he hoped he was seductive, hoped he was as tempting as Frankenstein was himself. Much more, for Raizel was ravenous, was greedy, his mouth hungry as he sought Frankenstein's. He licked at the stray blood on those lips, pressed against them chastely but then pulled away, his own lips parted slightly, an invitation. Raizel was close, his mouth barely a hair away from Frankenstein's. He hoped Frankenstein would be the one to press forward, close what little gap was between them, and take him for himself. "Take me," take him, and have him and swallow him whole, scorch him on the inside, for Raizel was Frankenstein's.

Frankenstein was still reeling from the feel of Raizel within his very soul: there was nothing in him left capable of resisting as he pressed his lips to Raizel's. He wanted to open their bond, wanted to croon, 'Master' but what if it was only the game Frankenstein played for his Master that let his Master be so open like this? He still renewed his devotion inside his heart, pledged his Master utter obedience as he rolled Raizel beneath him on the lounge.

Raizel relaxed, relaxed down, placing himself entirely in Frankenstein's care. Hel was disheveled, his robe, carefully made and carefully wrapped by Frankenstein, was now barely clinging onto his body, but it was still soft and warm as it slid down his skin; still, he knew Frankenstein's hands were softer, warmer, and he wanted those hands on his body, wanted skin against skin.

"You tempt me so," Frankenstein breathed, sliding his free arm between Raizel and the cloak, pulling his sweet to him. "I cannot resist you." He could never, not when he felt his master so open, so warm and no, not surrendering. His Master surrendered to fate too often, but no, instead of simply accepting he called to Frankenstein and Frankenstein squirmed against him, wanted to give Raizel more but he truly could not wait to take his own pleasure. After, afterwards he would... and with a groan the thought of all the things he would do to give Raizel more sent him over the edge. He pressed his face into Raizel's hair and shook, breathing hard.

Raizel breathed in the scent of Frankenstein, of tea, and sweets, and sweat—of desire. And the way Frankenstein trembled against him made Raizel's heart swell, and he felt like a waiting tide, waiting for a crashing wave. Oh, but he did not want to wait. So he moved his hands to Frankenstein's hair, coaxed him to face Raizel, so he could see the way Frankenstein panted, the way his face turned rosy, and he was beautiful, always. Raizel kissed him, then, longingly, slowly, deeply, and when they parted he too was out of breath.

Frankenstein shifted his grip to Raizel's length even as his Master kissed him. He wanted to feel Master come and then, oh then, foods were not the only delights he had prepared.

A small sound, a small shudder, and Raizel was wet in Frankenstein's hand, only Frankenstein's. But, he wanted more, wanted all of Frankenstein, so he wrapped his arms around him, hugged him close and closer. "Frankenstein," he called, he yearned, he whispered, his breath ghosting Frankenstein's ear. Raizel's hips twitched just a bit, just a bit more... He buried his face in Frankenstein's neck, muffling his moan, but still he tensed, he shook. He sighed, looked down and blushed at the mess he had made of Frankenstein's hand. Raizel backed away a bit, took Frankenstein's hand into his own, held it to his lips, licked at such skilled, soft fingers, with eyes half closed, pleased with pleasure.

Frankenstein tried to pull his hand away and failed utterly—he wondered if Raizel even noticed the abortive movement. Instead his eyes were glued to Raizel's tongue and he almost absently opened the drawer and withdrew... no, not that toy. Raizel had asked for more. Something _bigger_ , to satisfy his Master. He leaned forward to whisper into Raizel's ear, "Lie back and spread your legs for me." _For me_.

His heart skipped. Frankenstein, a masterful Frankenstein, and for him, Raizel would do anything, so he obeyed, parted from Frankenstein's hand, and lay back with trusting anticipation, spreading his legs. It was rare that he was in this position, so exposed, so... open, when Raizel was a reserved noble. He felt himself blush again; he hoped the sight pleased Frankenstein.

Frankenstein set down the toy and pressed kisses to Raizel's thighs. The downside of using a larger toy was that he would have to stretch his Master until he was open enough to take it, but he couldn't regret being inside his Master, pleasuring him. "Open the bond," he ordered, remembering the game and wanting to encourage Raizel to remain so sweetly yielding.

And Raizel did so. Lingering on Frankenstein's kisses, and the bond bloomed like flowers, like heat on his thighs, giving Frankenstein access to all of him, his body, soul, and mind.

Frankenstein shuddered, supporting himself on his elbows over Raizel, blond hair falling down in front of his face. Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe, don't cry out, don't let tears fall even though it feels so good that he wants to forget his body, forget his name, curl up against Raizel and sing worship until his soul is empty of everything but his Master. He dreams of dying like that sometimes, becoming nothing but soul to supplement his Master's, a voice singing inside Raizel's soul to remind him that he is loved. This is not an ecstasy that humans were made to feel, but neither was he meant to bear Dark Spear's pain. He can't, he won't give this up, but it is so sweet that sometimes he wants to let it break him just so that he could experience Raizel putting him together afterwards, because his Master would never give up on him.

Raizel gasped, afraid that he had overwhelmed Frankenstein, and Frankenstein was too sweet, much too sweet to die, especially for him. "Frankenstein," Raizel whispered, Raizel reminded, and he ran his fingers through Frankenstein's hair, stroking him, breathing calm through the bond. "Continue, Frankenstein," _I am here_. Here, because Raizel knew Frankenstein would keep him.

Frankenstein let himself fall enough to rest his head on one of Raizel's thighs. He wanted, oh he wanted to open Raizel until they were both hard, fuck him with the toy until they both screamed, but for now he was supposed to play Master and he wanted, oh he wanted, to rest just like this, in his Master's hands, feeling his Master's infinite care for him. He let out a soft sound of reassurance, feeling that calm suffuse him.

Raizel continued to gently breathe, gently brush. He had been so greedy, so wanting, always asking for more. He had been urgent and impatient, but for now, he would wait, wait as long as necessary until Frankenstein was ready.

A tongue darted out to lick at Raizel's thigh just for the feeling of it. To feel his Master's softness and oh how he loved. He loved the heights of ecstasy and the calm afternoons just sitting there with each other and the comforting warmth of tea. Frankenstein indulged himself just a bit longer, and a bit, stocking away the feelings so he could ask his Master for this next time. But they had a scene to resume, so he pushed himself up and smiled for his Master. "I'm alright, my sweet," he promised, stroking Raizel's hair.

Raizel smiled back, leaned into Frankenstein's touch. He was relieved, glad, and now, he wanted. "Take me," he repeated. "Give me more." More of Frankenstein because he could never get enough; he was beyond sweet, addictive.

Frankenstein dipped his fingers in the jar of oil, still a bit too drowsy to point out that sounded a bit like an order and he really should punish Raizel for it, in the context of the game they were playing. Punish him by chaining his arms back, perhaps, so he couldn't cling to Frankenstein when he shook with pleasure... another time, perhaps. For now he smiled indulgently and pushed Raizel back down onto his back, reaching between his legs to open him up. Or perhaps the punishment would be giving Raizel the toy when he craved Frankenstein's flesh?

“Mmn..." was what left his throat when Frankenstein pressed into him. =Raizel caught the images that passed through Frankenstein's mind. _Punishment_ and it amused him, because how could any time spent together be considered anything less than bliss? Whatever Frankenstein decided to do, Raizel would love it—love him all the same. But for now, he savored the feeling of Frankenstein's fingers, and they knew his body well.

It was the same for Frankenstein, and he did his best to clear his mind of images of him crying out in ecstasy as Master dug a knife into his skin, tracing out patterns to mark him as Raizel's own, or spread him on a rack, or, or anything, Raizel making certain that the pleasure would outweigh the pain, wiping his face with a wet cloth to soothe him, letting him whimper and adore his master no matter what and be owned. But the fact his Master would never hurt him (except the bite, but there was no pain to feel there, not in the face of the connection it made between them) was why he could crave even the pain, crave anything his Master might give him.

For now he breathed roughly and slid in a second finger, wanting to rest his head on one of his Master's thighs again. So he did, hair falling over silken skin.

Raizel sighed, his heart picking up again and Frankenstein's fingers struck a chord, and Raizel shuddered, a restrained "ah!" leaving him. He tried not to move much, as much as he wanted him to reach deeper; Frankenstein was resting, and Raizel did not wish to disturb him.

"Mmm." Yes, that was what he wanted to do to Raizel, wanted to hear the quiet noble cry out because of him, but he wasn't reacting to it as strongly as he expected. Perhaps his soul was still a little overstimulated. Well, he would have time to recover, and it wasn't as though it was a bad thing to feel drowned in red pleasure instead of consumed by want, able to leisurely focus on driving his sweet mad with desire instead of needing to divide his focus and control himself.

Frankenstein was slow, was careful, was teasing. Raizel's hands clenched and unclenched at the sheets, feeling but not quite there. A soft whine, a harsh breath. "Frankenstein, please," and Raizel could only ask, could only plead and wait, because it was not his turn to take.

Frankenstein decided to be a tease and let out a soft laugh: he was Master now, and he wanted to keep his fingers within Raizel, wanted to watch him be so careful with the sheets Frankenstein made for him. Hearing Raizel say his name was also a bonus. Yes, he felt very content, just like this.

Raizel let out a few soft, impatient sounds, hoping to perhaps coax Frankenstein, but that laugh, a sweet, devious little tune. Oh, it was just like him to drive nobles mad. And Raizel would have smiled to himself at the memories of a reckless Frankenstein enjoying the ire of the clan leaders if he were not at the receiving end of such treatment. But this kind of teasing was nothing but love. "Frankenstein..." Raizel whined. He shivered, tried to move his hips with Frankenstein's hand without dislodging the head on his thigh.

Frankenstein couldn't help but relent when this was his sweet Master. He carefully spread his fingers, opening Raizel up a little quicker, pressing a kiss to his thigh.

Raizel moaned a little, arched a little. He was hard, dripping onto himself and his face was warm. Raizel closed his eyes, breathed through slightly parted lips.

So, so sweet Frankenstein could hardly bear it, looking up at Raizel's face. He parted his lips for the tip of Raizel's cock, even though he'd intended to pleasure them both together with the toy.

"A-ah," and Raizel was pleasured but not quite pleased. Frankenstein was stretching him, was tasting him, but it was hardly a sampling. Though he felt his belly clench, his entrance twitch, he resisted the urge to thrust past Frankenstein's lips. He wanted...wanted... _to be fucked_. And Raizel blinked, and blushed deeply at such a vulgar thought, letting out a pleading moan, to perhaps distract Frankenstein from Raizel's mind, but oh, Frankenstein had surely heard.

Frankenstein let out a satisfied groan. Raizel was almost stretched enough, but he didn't think Raizel would mind it if the toy was a _little_ large for him. Removing his fingers from inside his sweet and relishing Raizel's little sad noise at the loss, he began to slick the toy. Perhaps it was a little arrogant to make it in the shape of his own cock, but there was nothing Raizel liked inside him more.

Raizel held onto Frankenstein's shoulders when he leaned down to slowly slide the toy inside, and it stretched him wide. Raizel felt himself aching to accommodate, and perhaps he had been a tad too impatient, but he loved the feeling nonetheless. He whimpered, felt his own precome pool on his skin. Raizel arched, stretched his neck back, not a moan, not a scream, but something almost silent even as his mouth opened wide as if his breath were being forced out of his lungs.

Utterly beautiful, Frankenstein thought, giving Raizel a warm look. His sweet one always was, but to see him this abandoned because he had put everything in Frankenstein's hands, even his dignity? "Good," Frankenstein said, stroking his hair to soothe him. "Do you like that?"

Raizel tried to still his breathing enough for a response but it would only leave him as rapid gasps, so he bit down on his lip and nodded with a "mm..." And he moaned, his hands roaming Frankenstein's body, in search of something to grip. Raizel knew he looked hopeless, helpless, but only for Frankenstein's eyes, eyes that always followed him with a gleam of wonder, and it was wonderful how much Raizel could forget about himself when was like this.

The most powerful being in the world, utterly undone by his touch. And his invention. He hadn't even switched it on yet, Frankenstein thought smugly, continuing to stroke Raizel's cheek and shifting closer so that Raizel could cling to him.

And Raizel did. Wrapped his arms around him, dug his fingers into his skin, because Frankenstein, dear Frankenstein was his dearest. He was close enough for Raizel to seek out his mouth, his tongue. Raizel licked at Frankenstein's lips, hoping to be allowed a kiss.

Frankenstein caught Raizel's tongue with his own and switched on the vibrate function.

His body seized up, his nails broke Frankenstein's skin, and he wanted to gasp, but his mouth was caught, Frankenstein's tongue tangling deeply with his own. He moaned, an urgent, delicate sound, and his feet dragged across the sheets. Raizel shuddered, broke the kiss to breathe, to gasp, blinking rapidly as if his soul were trying to fly away.

His bonded was the one clinging to him now, body clenching around something that wasn't there as he shared Raizel's pleasure. He trailed a hand down Raizel's back, then slid down so he could grip the base, thrusting his hips against Raizel's thighs twice before beginning to slowly slide the toy out of Raizel's body.

A long, low sound left Raizel as he felt the toy drag against the inside of him. And it felt "So good..." he confessed, and he was embarrassed and yet emboldened, and it was liberating.

Frankenstein moaned against Raizel's chest, braced himself, and thrust it back in to his sweet.

"Frankenstein," Raizel called, called to a heaven that was close enough to touch him everywhere, including deep inside. Raizel was panting, was clinging, his eyes closed but his lashes trembling. "Drink from me," he prompted again between gasps. Because Raizel wanted to feel and wanted Frankenstein to feel him just as much.

How could he deny his Master? He couldn't, and when his master asked so sweetly it was doubly impossible. He scraped his fangs against his Master's stomach and gently lapped at the blood, thrusting against Raizel's legs as he pulled on the toy. Perhaps he should build in an automatic thrust function next, then he could let it wreck him as well as Raizel. He loved the thought of the two of them clinging to each other, utterly undone by pleasure Raizel shared with him.

Raizel trembled from too much, but oh, he could always want more, and he felt Frankenstein move the toy within him, churning him, burning him up on the inside, felt Frankenstein's teeth and tongue, felt him rub against him, and he returned those feelings down the bond, hoping to pleasure Frankenstein just as much. And when Frankenstein moved his hand to Raizel's already twitching, already dripping cock, all coherency fled from him and it was all feeling and burning and body—bodies. Raizel was taut, was shifting, was rippling. He tossed his head to the side, felt a hesitant scream tear through his softer whimpers, and he sang and called Frankenstein's name like a hymn. "More," Raizel dared to ask because he wanted to be completely flooded, submerged: wanted to be pleasured and lost to the point he forgot who he was, who he was supposed to be.

He would have to build more toys for his Master and test them thoroughly on himself if they had this much effect on him. If they liberated his voice like this, the voice Frankenstein loved to hear. Another thrust, and Frankenstein had to narrow the bond between them just a little so he didn't become lost in it, so he could continue to manage the scene and his Master's pleasure.

A warmth settled deep into Raizel's chest, a reassurance that his noisiness was not bothersome, not an intrusion, and it was so rare that he was allowed to—encouraged to be noisy, just as he loved to hear Frankenstein. They loved to hear each other, loved to roll over each other, envelope each other, like waves, and deep down, they were the same, inseparable, indistinguishable because they shared more than souls.

"Frankenstein," Raizel breathed, beckoned, because he needed him—because he felt like breaking, like grieving, his chest heaving with the weight of some far off tragedy, far off but not far enough. He had placed himself utterly in Frankenstein's hands, and in Frankenstein's hands he was allowed to mourn, allowed to regret, allowed to fear, all the feelings he had denied himself. And the world was so vast, Frankenstein's love so wide, and death so permanent. Between broken moans and broken breaths, Raizel was caught between pleasure and perdition. "Save me, Frankenstein," he pleaded sofly again, not because he questioned Frankenstein's earlier resolve, but because he wanted to hear just once more that he was going to live, going to be protected. Frankenstein was his knight. "Please..." and he never wanted to leave, never wanted to abandon such a life, such a soul again; he would regret it for 820 years, regret it for more. And as he trembled with the feeling of being stretched and pressed and stroked against all sides of his sensitive inner walls, with the feeling of being filled, his lashes grew wet.

Frankenstein let out a soft, needy moan, pressing his face against his Master. He would give anything to save his Master, and to hear his Master wanted it, wasn't unwilling to be saved gave him hope as well as need. His master was crying for him, and it was all Frankenstein could do to keep from crying himself. "I will keep you by my side forever," _Master_ , he promised, knowing that Raizel's dearest wish was the mirror of what Frankenstein longed for. To be saved from his eternity of failure to help anyone, of running, of hiding. Salvation was home and love and Raizel was here, in his arms, whole if not hale. He would do anything to keep him safe, anything but the things they both abhorred.

Raizel loved him so, loved him so much, loved him more and more and more. He shook, cried and cried out, felt his own fangs extend just from feeling, just from the effort of hanging on as his breath left him. He curled around Frankenstein and came onto himself and he was warm and wet. Raizel unfurled his limbs, his soul, presented himself, messy and breathless and inelegant, but there was a soft joy in being this way just in front of Frankenstein.

Drawing in a breath, Frankenstein could barely believe it. He loved serving his Master, loved being taken care of, but he would play this game a hundred times just for this, just to see his Master let go, warm and wet and abandoned. He held out his fingers, pressed them to his Master's mouth in case his sweet wanted something to bite.

He turned down the vibrator to a gentle thrum and watched his Master attentively.

He bit down gently on those fingers, drew a little blood, and sucked and licked languidly, letting out a long breath even as his hips pleasantly twitched. Raizel closed his eyes, feeling the steady, deep pulsing of the toy. He shifted his legs, bending one of them to press a firm knee to Frankenstein's cock, rubbed gently against it, smearing himself with its slickness.

Rubbing his cheek against Raizel's, Frankenstein murmured, "You enthrall me." He would have to fine-tune how he adjusted the link—his soul and heart felt sated, and he was used to ignoring what his body screamed at him when it was pain instead of the desire for pleasure. He felt almost reluctant to let this encounter become about his own pleasure instead of just watching his sweet Raizel savor the toy, but Raizel wanted to pleasure him and as Master in this scene he would indulge his sweet, he thought with a smile, nestling in closer to Raizel and carefully opening the link wider.

Raizel's soul hummed in the bond, hummed in Frankenstein, yes, it was only fair that his bonded, or for now, his Master, was pleasured as well. Master, that was what Frankenstein had chosen to call him back then and Raizel didn't understand it, was reluctant to indulge in Frankenstein's submission. But, perhaps... He gave Frankenstein's fingers a last lick and, "Master," he tried, breathy, and the word sounded foreign on his own tongue. "Master," he whispered again, trying to get familiar with the sound of his own voice as he continued to rub against Frankenstein.

Frankenstein couldn't help moaning with both desire and relief. Did Raizel understand now, why Frankenstein longed to bend the knee to him so much? The feeling of belonging and safety that came from the thought of being owned by someone worthy, someone who saw him as a treasure to protect instead of abuse? And yes, Frankenstein would guard Raizel with his life, with his very soul. He matched his lips to his sweet's and let himself go boneless, appreciating the thrum Raizel shared with him and his beloved's ministrations.

Much too alike, Raizel thought, tragically so, but he was in awe, always, of how much Frankenstein trusted him, trusted to belong to him. In awe of Frankenstein, and indeed he was a beyond worthy Master that would hold him, protect him, save him, as Raizel would for Frankenstein. His tongue slid against tongue, his hand slid against skin, and Raizel reached down in between them, reached for Frankenstein, palmed him, rubbed and circled to head of his cock. "Master," he breathed when he had the chance for breath. "Will you use me?" and Raizel wondered how far he would go in this game.

Humming thoughtfully, Frankenstein watched Raizel's lips and considered. No, he thought, going in for a kiss. He wouldn't use that mouth, that would make it awkward to kiss his sweet Raizel. He could slide the toy out and take Raizel himself, and there was a bit of interest at that thought. "Slick me," he ordered his sweet one, holding out the oil to him, rewarding Raizel for offering himself to his Master.

There was a quiet, floating happiness in him, and whether Frankenstein was shaking and submitting beneath him or giving orders and indulging him, Raizel found him so endearing, so cute regardless, because everything he did, he did passionately, absolutely, did with a bright burning that warmed Raizel completely. Raizel dipped his fingers in the oil and didn't mind so much when it dripped on the sheets, dripped on him (perhaps he might be gently punished for it). He grasped Frankenstein, thoroughly coating him, wetting him when he was already wet.

"Good, sweet one." Frankenstein kissed his forehead, taking the oil and drizzling it over Raizel's cock, working the organ patiently as he turned the dial. He would like to have Raizel well worked up by the time he took him, because with the link open Frankenstein did not think he could long endure Raizel's probable reaction to being taken by his Master. Raizel was sweet, addictively so, and if he could coax sound from Raizel's lips, make him cry-out with well-placed thrusts? His cock twitched at the thought. "You delight me," he told Raizel with a smile, and guided his dear one's hand to his cock knowing Raizel would like that.

Even though Raizel had just come, he found his noble body responding just as acutely to Frankenstein, because unlike battle, pleasure and sweets and nice things never costed him energy, never tired him; he could spend an eternity basking in Frankenstein's warmth, taking all he gave, giving back all he could. Raizel breathed on Frankenstein's neck and felt the oil run over him, making him messier than he already was. Dripping, getting everywhere and on the sheets. He brought his lips to Frankenstein's skin, kissed along his neck and stroked at Frankenstein, the feel of the solid length in his hand exciting him.

So eager... so sweet... Even if he hadn't been driven away from his homes, desperate enough to seek refuge with a noble he would have wanted to have Raizel, surely. Perhaps in some other reality, Raizel might have been his. Might have sworn loyalty to him after he saved Raizel's life, gave him tastes of so many good things? Maybe Raizel would be as grateful to him as Frankenstein was to his beloved Master. No, he didn't have to wonder, not when Raizel loved him so, just like this, without hesitation. That soft hand stroking him, kisses pressed against his skin when his Master could have taken... Frankenstein's heart ached with how much he adored him. He began to slide the toy from his Master because. He truly couldn't wait.

The sweetest of all sweets, and Raizel adored Frankenstein just as much. He let out a quiet, low moan as the toy left him, left him wanting, and he wanted to be filled again, so he wrapped his legs around Frankenstein's waist.

Frankenstein slid in carefully, unable and unwilling to deny his sweet what he wanted even for a moment. That moan made him kiss at Raizel's face consolingly even as he slid in, to reassure his bonded that he wouldn't leave him empty any more than Raizel would him.

Raizel smiled softly, felt him heat up on the inside again. He arched his neck back to kiss Frankenstein's jaw, whisper "Master" in his ear. "More," always more and he slid his hands up Frankenstein's back to tug at his hair.

_'Master,'_ Frankenstein thought, and shuddered, wrapping his arms around Raizel and holding him close. More, yes, anything for the one who yielded so sweetly, who trusted him so, who gave him everything he wanted when all he wanted was Raizel.. He thrusted convulsively into that heat and had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out, "Master!" No, no, "My love," was the true name of the one he held, in the game where he would forever and for always save Raizel, be together with him always.

Frankenstein struck him sharply, deeply, quickly. Oh, but whether Frankenstein called him 'Master' or 'my love' or 'my sweet', Frankenstein would always be Frankenstein and Raizel, Raizel and they were the same, and Frankenstein would save him still. Raizel felt Frankenstein's soul reach for him, felt it want to lie in him, submit to him, even as Frankenstein tried so hard to remain in character. And who was Raizel to deny his Master what he wanted? So Raizel pulled at Frankenstein's hair so that his neck was exposed and sank his fangs deep into that sweet flesh. _Frankenstein_ he called, he commanded.

Frankenstein cried out, arching his neck not caring that it opened the wound deeper. He. His. His Master, "Ah!" Oh, oh, he should scold his Master for this within the game, even withdraw and leave him tied up and lonely, wanting more and not allowed to have it unless he was an obedient captive, but he knew that Master had rebelled, had abandoned the game Master enjoyed so much for _his_ sake and he couldn't bear it. Truly he couldn't. He didn't deserve such a sweet, loving Master who made him welcome the fangs in his throat, the mark of ownership they'd leave for too, too short a time.

Raizel swallowed the blood, swallowed again. Withdrew, only to bite him again in almost the same place. Frankenstein liked these marks and Raizel had come to like them too, pulling away just enough to look at them as the bleeding slowed, stopped, and in moments, the bite would be gone, the only evidence of them resting in their souls. Raizel sighed longingly, lovingly, and rolled them over. He rose up, looked down at Frankenstein's rosy face, rode him just a bit before settling down, Frankenstein deep inside him. "Be still, Frankenstein," he said, he ordered, softly, gently. Raizel was still slick with oil and fluids and he trailed his hands down his own belly, smearing his skin, gripped at himself, stroked himself, warm with Frankenstein on the inside.

His bonded shook with the effort of restraining his hips when his Master was so glorious, taking pleasure from him and around him. Thrusting in the hands that so recently had been on Frankenstein's need and if the game was over, then it was alright for Frankenstein to cover his eyes and shudder for a moment, be overwhelmed and vulnerable with it. Because meeting Master's eyes made him pant and it was altogether too much, that red glow of Master's want.

"Look at me, Frankenstein," because Raizel was putting on a show, just for him. As he continued to pleasure himself with a hand, the other swept over Frankenstein's chest, teased a nipple, and he wanted to drive Frankenstein over the edge with want, deny him lovely friction even though Raizel also craved it. Punishment, he thought, for teasing him so much in the beginning. A coy smile.

Instant obedience, of course. Frankenstein's want coursed through their bond in answer, and Raizel could see his cheeks stained pink with shy desire, not sure if he should endure or if it was somehow disobedient to plead with Raizel to relent by sending his want to his Master. A small pleading noise, more for Raizel's mercy than for more, although Frankenstein wanted more. His bonded was too good at denying himself.

Oh, it was tempting to give in to Frankenstein, to ride him until they both came, but no, not this time. Raizel pleasured himself, making sure to keep his hips still even as he tightened around Frankenstein. He was dripping on him. "What do you see?" Raizel asked, and he expected an honest answer.

"My Master." His everything. "In pleasure," he added when he realized that his Master would want more. He saw that his Master was enjoying him, but that made him blush to think it, forget saying it.

He reached for his cock, wondering if his Master might enjoy seeing what Frankenstein saw. Or would he bat the hand away, force Frankenstein to wait on his Master's pleasure?

He chose to do the latter, though gently. Raizel sighed fondly. "As always, you do as you please," and he loved him for it, but "Must I remind you to keep still?" Raizel leaned down, kissed Frankenstein's forehead, his cheek, behind his ear. "What do you see, Frankenstein?” Raizel asked again, firmer, darker, and he pulled back, stared at him with burning red eyes.

"My love," he whispered. "My everything. Taking the pleasure you deserve, having your way with me. Granting my wish." Even denying Frankenstein pleasure was what Frankenstein wished, if it made Raizel happy.

Frankenstein was so sweet, Raizel pressed his slick hand to Frankenstein's mouth.

He tasted it, savoring the taste of the oil and precome, his gift to his Master and the evidence of his Master's pleasure. He moaned, lapping at a finger, trying to coax it into his mouth. Dimly he wondered what a picture he made for his Master, lying with golden hair spread out on the soft robe Frankenstein made to cradle his Master, the muscles of his stomach tense with the need to restrain his thrusts, Raizel dripping on his stomach.

Raizel pulled his hand away, returned it to stroke himself, and he shivered a bit. "What do you see of your love? What do you wish of your Master?" Raizel leaned a bit back, stopped touching himself for a moment, placing his hands behind him on Frankenstein's thighs to offer him an unobscured view of everything, of his previous pleasure, of his current arousal.

Frankenstein swallowed, words entirely failing him at the sight of his Master so debauched, his hole stretched around Frankenstein. He wanted to beg and plead in breathy whispers and quiet, desperate whimpers. He let out a small moan before giving in to saying what he wished, because it felt as though that was the only thing in his mind right now. "More, Master. Move on me. Take me. Have me, ride me," like an animal, well-trained and obedient (things he tried to be, for his Master). "Let me move inside your heat, please Master?"

Such honest words only made Raizel wetter, but, he couldn't give in, not yet, not now. He leaned down, kissed Frankenstein hungrily, and decided that perhaps it was time for a break. He would give Frankenstein all that he wanted in due time. Raizel shifted off of Frankenstein, as much as he loved the feeling of him inside him, and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Frankenstein's eyes. "Tea, Frankenstein," he said, and got off of Frankenstein completely to sit next to him. It was alright for Frankenstein to go to the kitchen, even in this state. The children were not home and wouldn't be until the next day; Frankenstein had made sure of this, Raizel remembered.

Frankenstein could have suppressed all his lust, partitioned that feeling away until it was time, but he knew that wasn't what his Master wanted. So he ignored his aching cock and bowed, knowing the game was over and it was time for the other game, that of service and submission. Raizel indulged him by letting him live that game, and he was always grateful. He went for the tea, thinking that perhaps he might be allowed to kneel and suck his Master's cock while he drank it.

When Frankenstein came back, Raizel was seated at the table once more, poised, with the robe loosely draped over his shoulders. Frankenstein poured him his tea, stirred in his sugar, served him as he had countless times before. Raizel watched him closely as he did so, watched the clockwork of Frankenstein's bare body as he went through well practiced movements, how certain muscles contracted, relaxed, how he lowered his head just a bit when he presented the cup, how he pointedly ignored his own need. Raizel nodded, made a sound of approval as he held the cup in his hand, warm and pleasant. He ordered Frankenstein to kneel at his feet, and Frankenstein did so; coaxed his head to rest against his thigh, and Frankenstein did so. Frankenstein did so well, always, and tea was always perfect. Raizel drank his tea in silence, a hand running through Frankenstein's hair. He wondered what Frankenstein saw now, with his face so close Raizel's body. He pressed a foot to Frankenstein's cock.

Frankenstein relaxed, breathing warm breaths against Master's thigh. Master was taking care of him, as Master always did when he was dominant in their games, and it made him feel warm and peaceful even though he must be dripping on the floor. It was worth it to be in his Master's care, his Master who appreciated everything he did. His tea, his trusting presence: what else would his Master let Frankenstein do for him?

Sweet Frankenstein, sweeter than the the tea Raizel held to his lips, which had cooled down just enough. "Frankenstein," he called, and when Frankenstein looked up, he pushed tenderly on his shoulder so that there was just enough space between them for Raizel to reach forward, reach forward and tilt the cup, pouring warm tea over Frankenstein, drenching his cock and Raizel's foot. A sweet little mess.

Frankenstein made a surprised sound. Was the tea not up to Master’s standards? Had he forgotten the sugar? Then he realized that Raizel might have gotten an idea from the tea-flavored confection and calmed a little. He couldn't calm entirely when the thought of Raizel drinking from him was arousing.

"Do you like my feet, Frankenstein?” Raizel murmured. “My toes, my ankles?"

Frankenstein bowed his head to kiss the top of Raizel's foot, then the other foot's toes, one by one, then bent his head to the side to kiss his ankle, wondering if he would be told to suck on Master's toes, and glad streets were cleaner these days. Well, the symbolism remained, even if Master would always stay clean for his sake as well.

Raizel smiled softly down. Yes, he would always be clean for Frankenstein, but right now, he was so very dirty; they both were. He pressed his foot, still dripping with tea to Frankenstein's lips. "Drink."

Frankenstein's lips parted, making an effort to appear debauched for his Master's viewing pleasure as he went about the task. Cleaning Master was always a pleasure, but cleaning him when he was pristine was a waste of time. For Master to dirty himself for Frankenstein's sake, so he could tend his Master with teeth and tongue...

Raizel sighed, relaxed back. "And my knees, my thighs? Do you like them, Frankenstein?" he asked.

A deep nod, bowing his head. "Of course, my Master." Frankenstein let his tongue trace up his Master's calf.

It was warm, warm lips, warm tongue on his skin, tracing little shapes, leaving little kisses. "My hands, my neck, my mouth?" _Do you want them? Will you worship them?_

"Always, Master." Frankenstein smiled and kept working happily.

A soft, pleased noise as Frankenstein kissed up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, climbing on top of him once more. These questions were pointless; Raizel knew the answers already, and in a different context perhaps they might have been insulting, but he was not questioning Frankenstein’s devotion here. A game, a game neither of them could ever lose. “And my chest? My stomach?” he continued, breathy.

And when Frankenstein lowered his head to savor those areas too, Raizel wondered about his next words. He was to be careful about choosing them, but he should not, could not wait too long.

He swallowed, blushed deeply. He could dirty his body for Frankenstein, so his words should be no different. "Which do you prefer" —his voice came out quieter—"my ass or my cock?"

"To clean? Your cock, Master." He could watch his Master's expression. Although, he could arrange something with mirrors, perhaps make the arrangement part of the setup when next he was Master? Suspend Raizel before mirrors, try to help him see how beautiful he was...

Raizel placed a hand on top of Frankenstein's head and tugged back gently on his hair so that they looked each other in the eyes even though he was loath to lose the tongue on his skin. "That was not the question, _Frankenstein_ ," Raizel said, Raizel demanded.

"Take me, Master," Frankenstein said without shame, bowing his head.

Raizel pulled Frankenstein up, kissed him, nipped at his lips, his neck. "Get on your hands and knees, Frankenstein."

Frankenstein obeyed, letting his eagerness leak through the link for his Master's enjoyment. He wondered what was his Master's favorite position, but he didn't want to distract Master with a conversation on tastes. Master always considered everything so carefully, and he'd want to put thought into answering Frankenstein's question. With the mood he was in tonight, he might enjoy making Frankenstein wait while he considered, or savor Frankenstein multiple ways without making him come in order to refresh his memory of the positions... Not that those would be bad things, but...

Raizel leaned over Frankenstein, embracing him from behind, and in this way, he could pretend for a moment that he was Frankenstein's protector, that he had been able to protect him from the beginning. He breathed over Frankenstein's ear, kissed behind them, whispered in them, "Do not come until I permit you," as he trailed his hand down Frankenstein's belly to stroke him just for a bit.

In this way, Frankenstein could be in Raizel's hands, utterly. The self-discipline he'd needed to endure pain now let him put his pleasure in his Master's hands. The world seemed warm and worth it, worth everything, beneath Raizel, so he hummed as his Master covered him and sent sunlight along the link between them, the warmth he felt here with his Master.

Raizel smiled in Frankenstein's hair. He straightened up, reached over to the oil, which had managed not to spill over, but Raizel now spilled the rest of it over Frankenstein's powerful back, spilled it over between his legs, some of it running down Frankenstein's thighs. A hand, he slid slowly from Frankenstein's spine down over his cheeks, between them, pressed into him as deeply as Raizel's fingers could reach.

Frankenstein was open for him: modified like this, his body was at his command, always, and he was at his master's command. He felt the warm, scented oil running down his sides and thought of being anointed with sacred oils, of how often his thoughts returned to the fact that his Master was his god and his days were full of sacraments, sacred things, clean things, like tea in the afternoons. He pressed back against those fingers, to prove that Master was always welcome.

But to Raizel, Frankenstein had nothing to prove; he had already proven everything and more. Nonetheless, Raizel adored the sentiment, the reaction, adored Frankenstein for everything he did. So, he hoped to please him, please him by reaching for the spot he knew by heart Frankenstein liked best, and reaching around to resume pleasuring his cock as well, because no part of his bonded was to be ignored.

He gave in utterly, called out, "Master," as he never would have if he was trying to remain in control of the encounter, remain focused on Master's pleasure. He felt completely in his master's hands, and let himself feel.

Every time and always, Raizel would forever remain in awe, forever be honored that of all people, Frankenstein had chosen Raizel to be completely lost to. Frankenstein, lovely and sighing and calling, calling to him. Oh, yes, he would make Frankenstein feel, ruin Frankenstein with pleasure though Frankenstein could never be ruined. He was always perfect, even when he was disobedient, he was perfectly so.

Raizel pulled out his fingers, and, without hesitation, pressed the entirety of his length in, rested still in Frankenstein as he continued to stroke him. "What do you feel, Frankenstein?"

"Yours," he said, hanging his head down and gasping for breath, hair falling around him a golden bridal veil. "Yours," he said with naked longing because the fact he had it only made him want it more.

Raizel was not thrusting, not moving, not yet, simply feeling Frankenstein around him, hot and honest. He leaned forward. "How do you feel, Frankenstein?" he asked tenderly, teasingly, then brought his lips to Frankenstein's shoulder, kissed to the back of his neck,

How could he describe it, the weight hot and heavy within him, his thighs trembling from the desire to move but restraining that urge because his Master hadn't chosen to thrust and he gloried in obedience to his will? He arched his back to press his neck against those lips and opened the bond because he had no words and still wished to answer his Master's question.

Oh, Frankenstein was cute, and Raizel closed his eyes to appreciate his wordless answer and to give his own response as he bit down slowly, leisurely, sending him feelings of how it felt to rest within Frankenstein, how it felt to hold him in his hand, stroke that firm flesh that so honestly poured itself onto his fingers.

Frankenstein didn't want to hurry his Master along, so he suppressed his want carefully—his Master might be enjoying his want. Sometimes he fussed too much about what his Master might be wanting and if Frankenstein was anticipating his wishes properly, but his Master had bit down, Frankenstein's blood and soul flowed through him like it had the day he made their contract and he would wait as long as Master wished.

He couldn't mind if it meant staying here, just like this.

It was too much like Frankenstein, too much like Raizel, to suppress want for the other's wants. It made Raizel's soul flutter, made him that much more adoring, that much more tempting to make this last longer, because at least in this way, suppressing want was not something sad, something tragic; it was pleasure, a pleasure to be with Frankenstein.

Raizel started to move, slowly, slowly, feeling every inch of Frankenstein on him.

Frankenstein thrusted back, as though his Master beginning liberated him to be as eager as a teenager. What would it have been like to have met Master back then? He would have been utterly disrespectful, with no idea yet how much of a rarity Master was, unique in all the world.

He would have wanted to be around Master, that would still be the same, so he would have imposed on him like Master's school friends. Before he could feel horribly embarrassed at the thought, he thought of wracking his brain to compose love poetry, and trying to learn the lute, an earnest courtship that his Master would have been kind enough to favor. Would Master like it if he did such things now? He was sure Master always appreciated his earnestness, and yet... It would be worth the embarrassment to please him.

A young Frankenstein, disrespectful enough to steal his shirt? To lie to him? To touch him and kiss him when he had no experience about such things? Indeed, Raizel would have fallen for Frankenstein just the same, because he loved all that he did, back then in Lukedonia and here and now. Raizel could not appreciate him enough.

There was water in the corners of his eyes because Master... Master loved him so, worshipped him just as much as Frankenstein adored him in return, and he knelt here at the center of a firestorm of love and passion and so much, even, "More," he pleaded.

When Frankenstein had shed tears his first time being taken, Raizel was afraid he had done something wrong, had done too much and overwhelmed him. But now, he could only be grateful for them, grateful for the privilege of such a sight when Frankenstein never shed tears in front of anyone else, even in excruciating pain, even in Dark Spear's embrace. Raizel complied with Frankenstein's plea, just a little, thrusting steadily but still slowly, letting out a low, savoring moan.

Hearing his Master's pleasure was different from feeling it through the link, but equally primal. Frankenstein let out a moan himself to give Master the same pleasure, as much as he wanted to cry out and beckon Master to go faster, harder, more.

Raizel blinked at the sudden surge of desire in the bond. Frankenstein had been so restrained thus far: playing at Master, holding back his want. Raizel let out an approving hum, but not necessarily a relenting one. He stroked Frankenstein faster, bit down again deeper, but just a bit more, just a bit longer, he wanted to go slowly. After all, he didn't want Frankenstein to become undone too soon.

That was what Frankenstein wanted, to be utterly undone and helpless in his hands, but even if Frankenstein was willing to surrender to him, he shouldn't do it too easily. Frankenstein should never surrender to someone who wouldn’t take proper care of him, Raizel felt that very strongly. He should have pleasure and desire and heat, everything gifted to him by the one who loved him. And when Raizel had earned it, then he could have Frankenstein boneless in his lap, soft and sated and grateful.

Raizel almost smirked, but his lips were still on Frankenstein's flesh. With a last suck, a last lick, he pulled away, pulled completely out of Frankenstein. "On your back, Frankenstein."

His bonded let out a little sad sound at being temporarily abandoned and empty. It was hardly fair when Raizel was still touching him, hadn't abandoned him, and the bond was still filling him with Raizel's care, so Frankenstein blushed with embarrassment almost as soon as he let out the sound, turning over obediently.

Raizel loved to look at Frankenstein, a window into an entire world, oh but he was no window, no still, passive thing to be opened, closed, scrutinized at another's will. No, Frankenstein was willful, was shifting, was bending to the world in hopes of changing it. Raizel couldn't get enough of him, couldn't taste him enough, so he kissed down Frankenstein's chest, kissed all the way down to his cock, took it into his mouth as his dug his nails into Frankenstein's thighs.

He wanted to blush at his Master doing that for him, but instead he blushed at the look in his Master's eyes, that beloved red watching him as he sucked.

_Do you like my lips, Frankenstein? My tongue, my throat?_ Raizel continued to look up at him, watching him. And he adored Frankenstein's little breaths, little moans, little shudders. He slid his fingers into Frankenstein again.

_"Your hum, your sigh."_ Those and all the sounds that Master might make around him. _"Your fingertips,"_ were wicked and a delight.

A pleased rumble in his throat. Frankenstein, Frankenstein, his dearest, who loved him from his fingers to his feet, to his heart, to his soul, who loved him completely, tragically, and Raizel felt the same. _Frankenstein_ he called in his mind as he moaned around him, pleasured him with his tongue, welcomed him deep into his throat. He stretched Frankenstein out further with his fingers, adding a third, a fourth.

_"Master,"_ he thought, and, _"Master,"_ again as those fingers twisted within him, opened him wider even though he had already been loose enough to take his Master inside. He loved his master as meat loved salt, for his master was delight and savor and all that made life more than just living. He was a thousand delights and the sense that allowed him to feel delight in the first place.

Frankenstein groaned, wanting to come, but Master had given an order. He wanted to be brought to completion by his Master's caring touch and then curl up in the robe with him until he had rested enough to feed his master the rest of the treats he had made him.

Raizel's lips parted from Frankenstein, letting his saliva trail even as he continued to pleasure Frankenstein on the inside. He leaned over Frankenstein, replacing his mouth with his hand, teasing the tip of Frankenstein's twitching erection as he placed kisses on Frankenstein's belly, scraping his fangs against his skin.

Frankenstein wanted to pleasure him back, wanted to be taken so he could clench around Raizel, but all he could do like this was give him the pleasure in the bond and the sound of his voice as he gasped and moaned.

Raizel marked Frankenstein with little bites, not deep enough to last a heartbeat, a reminder of impermanence, but no, he was not to think of those things now. Raizel drew his attention back to Frankenstein, back to the fingers twisting and rubbing and pressing inside. He moved them faster, moved them deeper as he straightened up to properly look at Frankenstein.

Glazed eyes, blushing cheeks, hungry parted lips, his bonded was a delight to the senses, as he always tried to be. He shouldn't have to try, he didn't need to be beautiful to be worthy of Raizel, but oh, Frankenstein. Simultaneously the arrogance to dare the gods and finding new ways to measure himself seemingly only to find himself wanting.

Frankenstein was undeniably, unhesitatingly beautiful. No, he was beyond that, he was sacred, was divine. And Raizel had him in his arms, had him making sounds he wouldn't dare make with anyone else, and oh, he would love to hear more. Raizel withdrew his fingers, kissed Frankenstein as he reversed their positions again, pulling Frankenstein on top of him. "Pleasure yourself with me," Raizel said.

Frankenstein reached for his cock eagerly, curling against Raizel, breathing in the scents of sweets and tea (he would lick the rest of it off later, he promised himself, or wash the tea that remained on him). He didn't mind that Raizel wasn't touching him: he was pleasuring Frankenstein with his presence and his smile. The warmth of his regard, the bond in their hearts.

Raizel cradled Frankenstein's head. "Pleasure yourself on me," _over me, in me, around me_ , because Frankenstein wanted to be taken, and Raizel would have Frankenstein give himself to him, hand it right to Raizel like those frozen sweets.

Frankenstein let out a soft little whimper of desire and pushed against the junction of Raizel's thighs, sliding between that smooth skin. Oh, he could come, just like this, if Master let him.

Raizel tilted his head, breathed out, caressed Frankenstein's face, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "Continue, Frankenstein."

His bonded obeyed with a will, wrapping his arms around Raizel and thrusting harder, pressing Raizel's cock against his stomach. Would he... he dared to grasp it, hoping he would be allowed to pleasure Raizel. Doing it did turn him on, and Master did say to pleasure himself, so...

Frankenstein was a giver, a sufferer, always giving despite his own suffering, but Raizel was glad that here, Frankenstein could give and be in bliss as well; it pleased them both, pleased them both how Frankenstein adored Raizel enough to please himself through his Master. Raizel wrapped his legs around Frankenstein, pressed them close. "More," and this was not a plea. Oh, no, Raizel would not allow Frankenstein to slow down this time.

Frankenstein thrusted, pumped his fist around Raizel's cock, pressed his lips against his Master's chin and hung on desperately. _"Please, Master,"_ he whispered sweetly in their bond, for only his Master to hear ever.

"Please let me come," he said aloud, feeling like a wicked tempter and smiling at his own ridiculousness.

Raizel moaned and pressed his nose into Frankenstein's soft hair, breathing in. He was close, but not quite yet. Yes, Frankenstein was a tempter, but he was a sweetly impatient one. "Continue," Raizel insisted.

That wasn't a no, Frankenstein thought, and suppressed one of the wicked smiles he'd practiced in the mirror until they became second nature. His Master spoiled him so.

Raizel groaned, a soft, gentle sound, perhaps chiding, but he tugged on Frankenstein's hair hard, making him face him. "That was _not_ a yes," he said firmly, his voice steady despite his feelings, because Frankenstein, devious Frankenstein, needed to obey. Raizel's eyes were glowing, a red smouldering with command. _Give me more, Frankenstein._ Give him everything, give him himself, from his body to his mind to his soul to his sins, absolutely; absolution, that was what Raizel could give back. _My Frankenstein_ Raizel affirmed and indeed he was his.

Having his hair pulled made Frankenstein shudder: Master was being forceful and that was always arousing. Meeting red eyes, hearing that harsh tone of command: anyone else who dared speak to him like this would be getting introduced to Dark Spear right this instant, so perhaps it was the fact that only Master could treat him that way without dying that made him associate it with Master. Master was like this with criminals far too often, but he was only like this with Frankenstein when he was trying his best for his bonded's sake, or Frankenstein had managed to drive him past hesitation and forbearance alike.

Raizel rocked his hips with Frankenstein's, mouthed at his elegant neck, bit down hard, hard enough that it was not only his fangs that broke his skin. And he could only be honored that Frankenstein would let him draw his blood this freely. He never wanted to hurt Frankenstein, but he had learned that this didn't hurt him, not really.

Such a small pain from Master had nothing in common with Dark Spear's onslaught of hatred. So many things Frankenstein loved when it was Master and Master alone, he thought, submitting to the renewed order and the bite alike with a gasp and slowing the pace of his hips, although he couldn't help sliding deep, as deep as he could go between those silken thighs.

Master had ordered him to pleasure himself against Master. He was only obeying his Master’s order, he thought with fond delight.

"I did not tell you to slow down," Raizel said, pulling his lips away from Frankenstein for a moment, watching the blood trail down Frankenstein's neck.

Frankenstein felt the flow of blood on his skin and knew for a moment that he was wounded even though the wound had already closed. Wounded, vulnerable. But Master was here. Danger and safety, in his Master's arms. He groaned into Raizel's ear and his thrusts grew even faster and fiercer than they were before. He grasped his Master's cock anew, because Raizel had denied him permission to come but he could still try to coax his Master into orgasm, feel Raizel's thighs tremble around him.

Raizel gasped and opened the bond wide to let himself feel Frankenstein completely, feel him inside, over, around, everywhere, and Raizel did not know what he had done to deserve such a fantasy. He arched into Frankenstein, ran his hands over his back, and they were both trembling, both on the verge of breaking.

A strangled sort of moan left him. "Come, Frankenstein," he breathed, his lashes fluttering. "Let me drink you deep inside."

All his centuries, all his discipline, and Frankenstein couldn't resist those words. His vision whited out: all his world distilled down to the soft flesh around him and the heat coiled in and around his soul. He felt his release join the oil (he'd gotten Raizel's thighs so dirty, he thought without an ounce of regret) and felt heated fluid coat his hand. He lay there with his face against his master's neck, but even with his determination to savor this feeling it wasn't long before he drew his hand out from between their heated bodies and began to lick it clean. It might tempt his Master into a kiss, and after that, when next he could move Frankenstein would wipe his Master down with the soft robe they lay on, and then perhaps a shower, massaging every inch of him...

Raizel sighed, feeling how Frankenstein had filled him, how he still twitched weakly inside. He watched Frankenstein's tongue run along his fingers, fingers that had been on Raizel, inside him, dirtied by him, and what lovely fingers they were. Raizel could only pull them away from Frankenstein's own mouth and clean them himself.

Soft blue eyes gazed at his Master adoringly. His Master was so careful about Frankenstein's need for cleanliness he did this even though Frankenstein could easily have removed the mess himself... Once his hands were clean he could run his fingers through Master's hair, scratch at his scalp and behind his ears gently. For now he pulled a fold of the robe over them to keep the heat trapped between their bodies, prolong the time they spent loose and languid.

When he let those fingers slip away from his mouth, Raizel buried his face in Frankenstein's hair, breathing in his scent, his warmth, his presence. Whatever games they played, regardless of how forceful they were or how much they bled, they would always be soft and warm and together in the end, close and comforted. Raizel let himself indulge in such nice things.

Oh, but Frankenstein, he could never get enough. A moment to lie still, but Raizel wanted "More." He cupped Frankenstein's cheek, smiled not quite shyly, a little gleam in his soul. "You're leaking out of me," he stated, trying not to be embarrassed. "Clean me." And afterward, they had time for another game, or two, or three—it didn't really matter; they would lose count eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally Frankenstein was taking a break, and it only took a couple of near death experiences. 

He had ‘loosened up,’ Raizel thought with a sigh, standing there by the tube in the lab. Frankenstein was floating in it, relaxed because he could sense Master was there. The coffin would have helped him recover in slumber, perhaps even better than the tube, but Raizel hesitated to suggest it. He only resorted to it when he was near death: to see Frankenstein in there would… worry him.

 

When the time came, Raizel was the one to take Frankenstein out of the tube, and he used his powers to keep him asleep as he dried him and took him to their room so that Franken could wake up in soft, clean sheets and lovely light from the windows, with Raizel already there with a cup of tea for Franken. And when he woke Raizel said thank you, not so much for injuring himself in battle, but for allowing himself to sleep, to heal, and he looked at Frankenstein's unblemished body, as if he had never been injured, as if he had been reborn and he was grateful.

 

_ Thank you _ for resting, for living.

 

"Master," Frankenstein said softly, knowing the reason his Master thanked him and so touched, as always, that his Master valued him so.

 

"Thank you," Raizel whispered again, resting his head on Frankenstein's shoulder, taking Frankenstein's hand into his own, feeling his fingers, his skin, warm, when all he had been able to touch the past week was the cold glass of the lab tanks.

 

Frankenstein let his eyes slip shut, savoring the feel of Master's weight on his shoulder, his hand in his. It made him glad to be alive, and even gladder that it did the same for his Master.

 

Raizel breathed in, sighed softly into Frankenstein’s hair. At the moment, he still smelled of a chemical sterileness, but that was the only trace of his previous injuries, because as Raizel gazed down, eyes and fingers tracing over the contours of Frankenstein's body, his skin was smooth, was unblemished, from his collarbone to his sternum to his stomach to his thighs.  _ Thank you _ , he murmured in his mind. For everything.

 

Every single thing.

 

Opening his eyes at his Master's sigh, Frankenstein gazed down at him and couldn't help smiling as Master's words entered his soul. He pressed a kiss to Master's hair.  _ Everything, always, is yours. For you. _ He would even live for his Master's sake, and had through 820 years alone. And he was rewarded with the sight of Master. Thank you. For always accepting his gifts, his everything.

 

Frankenstein had gifted him all the things he never knew he could have. Had gifted him love and life, had gifted him fear and regret, allowed him to feel all there was to feel, because he was never afraid, never saw Raizel for his power. Raizel lifted his head from Frankenstein's shoulder, looked up at his eyes with a sort of wondrous daze before lowering them to Frankenstein's hand. He took the hand, lifted it, and bent down to kiss between Frankenstein's knuckles. You,  _ you–yours _ .

 

"Master," Frankenstein breathed, eyes wet. Master overwhelmed him so easily, and he loved it so. Loved him so. "Yours, always," he said aloud, promising with all of him. "Always," he said again, gazing into Master's eyes where beloved red looked up at him from his hand.

What a wonderful thing to wake up to, but Master... Master was always wonderful.

 

"And so are you," but Frankenstein already knew what Raizel thought of him, thought of him as wonderful, as wondrous, but no matter what he said aloud, it would never be enough. He could pray to him like a benevolent god, praise him like a tender deity, but for now, he trailed kisses up his arm, each warm touch an affirmation that Frankenstein was awake, was alive; was here, was his. "You're wonderful," he offered.

 

Frankenstein pulled Raizel closer still and pressed a kiss to his forehead, to his lips to quiet him. There was no need for Master to praise him, to think Frankenstein didn't know Master loved him so much it made his heart feel fit to burst. Even a chaste press of his lips to his Master's made him grow heated with how much he desired the soul inside that beloved body, but he was content now in the sunlight, in the clean sheets, with the Master who thoughtfully arranged for him to wake up like this instead of wet with sticky, drying nutrient fluid.

 

When their lips parted, Raizel smiled softly, understandingly. Frankenstein was right; there was no need to say anything, but that did not mean he did not want to. Yes, this was what he wanted. "You're lovely." Another press of their lips. "You're brilliant." A kiss on his neck. "You're perfect." Behind his ear. "You're mine." His beautiful Frankenstein.

 

Frankenstein shuddered at those final words, let his eyes slip shut. He remembered how he'd surrendered his blood and his freedom to be kept at Raizel's side forever. He still wanted to belong to Raizel just as desperately as he had the day he did something irrevocable.

 

Raizel backed away enough to cup Frankenstein's face in his hands, to look at him with wide eyes as if he were seeing him for the first time, even though he knew Frankenstein's face better than his own. He smiled, he breathed as if his chest were rising, were filling with something too lovely, like love, that wanted to pour out of him and all he had to offer were words. "You're marvelous," a marvel, he tried, but that was not enough. "You're divine." Deserving of worship when he only gave it. Raizel paused, his lips tightened, looked at Frankenstein with a hopeful desperation but it was hopeless. So he closed his eyes, opened the bond, and oh, it was love, love, and love. "You're Frankenstein," he whispered and he wouldn't have him any other way.

 

It was overwhelming. It unmanned him, reduced him to a whimpering thing pressing desperate kisses to his Master's face and he could only adore it. His Master loved him so and Frankenstein couldn't bear it. He could bear Dark Spear's torture but he couldn't keep his utter devotion from spilling out of his own mind and into Master's soul. Master, Master, always Master.

 

"Frankenstein,"  _ Frankenstein, _ and Raizel pressed their foreheads together, sighed. It was a beautiful day. It was a beautiful home, a beautiful bed, a beautiful person. His fingers slipped into Frankenstein's hair, scratched him lightly behind his ear.

 

He moaned softly for his sweet, kind Master and tilted his head to the side, bearing his neck. Dimly he thought that his Master might not wish to bite when Frankenstein was recently so wounded, but he was recovered and he wanted... wanted to make the offer. To renew the pledge, remind his Master that Frankenstein was his. He hoped that Master would take him up on it, but the truly vital thing was for Master to know how much Frankenstein was willing to give, how much he loved his Master, to give him everything, even his soul.

 

Raizel knew not to underestimate Frankenstein–those who had made that mistake were no longer around to realize their error–but still, he was hesitant to draw blood. Raizel gazed at Frankenstein, traced over the muscle on his neck with a finger. No, he couldn't deny him this. An offering and who was Raizel to refuse when Frankenstein's gifts were always above him? He breathed over Frankenstein's waiting skin, the hand tangled in his hair pulling Frankenstein's head back just a bit further. He extended his fangs far and, slowly, he pressed them into flesh.

 

It hurt but it made his soul sing, and this was the only way his Master would ever hurt him. Strengthening the bond renewed the onslaught of his Master's love, and he wanted to lean against his Master and submit to it, part his lips in invitation and give Master whatever he wanted. In the hope that Master would want him, and take what he wanted.

 

Even though his fangs had pierced quite deeply, Raizel only took a sip, not wanting to overwhelm Frankenstein so soon after having recovered. But a sip was all he needed, for there were other ways to taste Frankenstein. Lips to lips, he could taste him here and... elsewhere, his hands sliding down Frankenstein's back, coming forward to rest on his hips.

Oh, what did he want? Too much, he wanted it all, wanted eternity and everything. And yes, he wanted Frankenstein, more than that, he needed him and was always beyond sunstruck to have him.

 

Frankenstein flexed his hips in his Master's hands, pressing against him invitingly. He was always willing, always eager for the one he loved above all things. His love for his Master was the same as his love for the world, for his Master loved it and wished to protect it alongside him. He could lower his burdens with his Master, knowing his Master would care for them as carefully as Frankenstein did, and thinking of why he loved his everything made him love him more, desperately so, as always.

 

Raizel swallowed when they parted. Was it appropriate to ask if Frankenstein was well enough for this? But he did not want to imply that Frankenstein did not know his own body well enough to know which desires to pursue, even if he could be so calculatingly daring. "I will take you," Raizel finally decided to say, decided to let Frankenstein know, and if Frankenstein had any reservations, Raizel would hear them.

 

From that moan, Frankenstein was entirely willing. "Thank you, Master," he breathed, leaning forward into Raizel.

 

_ Thank you _ . Raizel leaned forward, placing his hands on Frankenstein's arms to guide him to lie back down, to rest for a moment as Raizel reached over to their bedside drawer for the jar of lubricant that was always there. He looked down at that pristine skin, that unmarked muscle and he was going to make it all so messy and Frankenstein wouldn’t mind. Raizel generously poured the lube over Frankenstein's stomach, trailing it down to his length. The jar went back into the drawer and Raizel smeared his hand over Frankenstein's body, worked and stroked him him with a decisive force and rhythm.

 

Frankenstein spread his legs and let his hips move as they would, thrusting up into his Master's hand as he let himself imagine the possibilities of what his Master might do to him, knowing that with their bond so open, his Master might see his thoughts and consider all the things he would do to Frankenstein. All the ways Frankenstein would be happy to have his Master have his way with him.

 

It had been a long time. Centuries ago, when Frankenstein had taken his shirt, taken  _ him _ , he was hesitant in his want, still guarded, and Raizel was hesitant to want him back. Centuries later and oh, it was so good to want and be wanted. Too good, Frankenstein was too good to him even though Raizel knew that he thought of himself as not enough; it was easy for them to spill their own blood. Raizel cherished him so and when it was he who bit Frankenstein, who made him cry out, he could be sure that Frankenstein knew exactly how much he was worth, how much he was wanted. Raizel leaned down, slipped his tongue past Frankenstein's lips, tasted him hungrily because he could want nothing sweeter.

 

Now Frankenstein didn't hesitate to wrap his legs around Raizel and pull him close. He knew his Master was always willing to satisfy his need for touch, that he didn't need to be lonely anymore. And by satisfying each other they satisfied themselves. Together, they were complete and the perfection of it made him moan, part his lips for his hungry Master.

 

Dear, his dearest, Frankenstein, Raizel could only hope to keep him close, only hope that Frankenstein would continue to see him as worthy, as deserving, because even if he had initially hesitated in accepting the title 'Master,' that was the honor Frankenstein had bestowed upon him. That was what Frankenstein wanted and needed him to be, and if it was for his dearest, his bonded, Raizel would do all that he could. So, he pulled back for breath, brushed back Frankenstein's hair, and looked for a moment at that lovely rosy face, those lovely parted lips. Raizel slid lower then, his mouth, his teeth to Frankenstein's chest, to taste his nipple, to leave bite marks on his pec.

 

Frankenstein dared to reach up, to wrap a hand around the back of his Master's head. He felt that soft hair, felt the warmth of his skin and the heat of his mouth. He thrusted gently into the hand that was still wrapped around his cock, but tried to restrain himself from speeding up. Master always took his time, carefully enjoying everything that Frankenstein gave him, especially Frankenstein himself.

 

Soft, gentle, careful, Frankenstein was all those things and much more even if he was always so sharp and bitter in battle, lips twisted in a venomous laugh, but now, those lips almost trembled with a vulnerable feeling, feeling Raizel on him, over him. Feeling Raizel's tongue, wet, nimble, and it knew Frankenstein's body well as it worked his skin as his hand worked his flesh. Raizel would take his time, take Frankenstein's time, but even so, his hand was fast, faster, firm because Frankenstein was doing too good a job restraining himself. Raizel smiled as he pressed a kiss to his neck.

 

Neck kisses made Frankenstein shudder: they reminded him of bites, of the bond in their blood, but they were so gentle, just like Master. They made him close his eyes and think of Master's softness and kindness, the soft skin of the hand wrapped around his length, the knowledge that Raizel had learned these things for his sake, and they gave him pleasure as well. A soft sound passed his lips. So long learning not to be soft or gentle, to excise those parts of himself until he thought them long lost, but with Master he could be like this, could return Master's softness by being soft himself, putty in Master's hands.

 

A little hum from Raizel, pleased, as his hand slid from Frankenstein's cock to his hole, a finger, thoroughly wet, slipped inside, then another, and Raizel pressed deeply inside where he knew Frankenstein loved to have him. And as he did so, he left little bites, not enough to break skin, on Frankenstein's neck, soothed those same bites with a soft tongue.

 

"Master," Frankenstein murmured, rubbing the back of Master's neck gently, just enough to be felt under the skin, where it felt best. Just like how Master was touching him so carefully, making him draw in a breath and let out a little gasp, slowly relaxing his control to show Master how good it felt. And that was alright, it was safe. It was alright to clutch at Master's shoulders under the dual onslaught of that finger and a bite at the side of his neck, sensation that forced all the air out of him and made him forget how to breathe.

 

Raizel always treasured Frankenstein's reactions. From the small gasps to the desperate whimpers to pleading moans. They were gifts, moments just between the two of them, perfect in every way, and sometimes, Raizel could hardly believe it, hardly stand it, floating and wanting to show, to let people know what a precious soul he had singing for him, just for him. It was just for them.

 

He let out a small, muffled groan as he bit down on Frankenstein's neck, breaking skin this time to draw the blood he drew a bit too little of the previous time. Insistently, his fingers stroked, stretched Frankenstein on the inside.

 

Frankenstein's thighs flexed, stretching wider as he arched his neck. He had those fangs piercing his flesh, he wanted Master inside him now. He arranged elaborate encounters for his Master's pleasure and appreciated it when his Master put thought into taking him, but now, tonight–or rather, this morning–he found himself aching for the long, delicious slide of his Master's cock into him. Found himself wanting to be taken, savored and petted and in the aftermath reduced to soft, grateful hums, allowed to wrap his arms around Master and cuddle with him, even though he had only just woken.He loved how his Master came to him when it was time for him to sleep, knowing that his touch calmed Frankenstein and allowed him to rest, but he wondered if he was beginning to associate his Master's touch with sleep... not that there was anything wrong with falling asleep in Master's arms.

 

Even though he had already swallowed down the blood, Raizel's fangs did not retract even as he parted from Frankenstein's neck. He moved to bite his shoulder, and yes, he wanted the same thing: to have Frankenstein asleep in his arms, safe and sated, especially since Raizel suspected that despite his seemingly full recovery, Frankenstein had instructed them all to leave him in the tank for not quite the full recovery time. If he could work Frankenstein up, work him thoroughly, then perhaps Frankenstein would sleep for just a bit longer.

 

"I want you to come on just my fingers," he said softly, tilting his head slightly at Frankenstein. "Will you be able to?" It was a flippant question; Frankenstein could do anything.

 

Being bitten elsewhere was a novelty, but Raizel's words made Frankenstein forget it as he moaned. "For you, Master, anything," he said, tensing around those fingers for a moment. He flexed his hips, entered into a rhythm; anything to heighten his enjoyment of those fingers, to savor them and reach completion as his Master wished. He knew it wasn't a test of his obedience, that Master would enter him or stroke him to bring him over the edge if Frankenstein failed, but the thought of coming as his Master ordered always inflamed him.

 

Raizel sighed fondly, gentleness in his eyes, in his smile. He shifted to take a hold of Frankenstein's thigh behind his knee, pushed it up and placed light kisses on the inside. As Raizel slipped a third finger into him to continue to spread and press and slide against where it felt best, he bit down on that soft inner thigh, a place no one else would get to bite. No, no one else would get to bite Frankenstein anywhere but Raizel could cut him, could draw blood from him from wherever he chose. Only because Frankenstein let him, only because he called him 'Master'. Raizel closed his eyes, his fangs still deep in blood and muscle, and let out a soft huff through his nose. _ Precious, adoring and adored _ , could Frankenstein feel how he felt?

 

"Yes," Master was all those things to him. Frankenstein arched off the bed at the feeling within him–the feelings, oh–and focused his attention on the pleasure in his body and the warmth in his soul at his master's touches. "Master..." He shuddered at the next touch, feeling Master's warm breath on his thighs.

 

Raizel watched Frankenstein, watched him tremble, watched–felt him buck against his hand. Raizel could force Frankenstein to come with a single command–the bond would too easily let him do that–but he found Frankenstein's efforts too endearing, the way he closed his eyes to savor the feeling even if he ached to be further filled.

 

Frankenstein remembered that day in the gazebo he'd built for Master, how he'd objected to Master focusing on Frankenstein's pleasure instead of thinking of himself, but this was different. It was natural for Master to be concerned for Frankenstein after Frankenstein was so badly injured–it wasn't as though penetrative sex would tire him enough to set back his recovery, but he could understand (and appreciate) Master wanting to tend, even to spoil him. So he would let Master get away with not taking his own pleasure from Frankenstein's always-willing body. Just this once.

 

As Raizel's fingers rubbed insistently against Frankenstein, he bent down to take press his lips, his tongue against a nipple. To tease that cute, firm bud, nip and pull.

 

His Frankenstein let out cute, breathy gasps, one of them turning into a whine.

 

"You're cute," Raizel breathed, and he did not have to hesitate in calling Frankenstein that now. "You're adorable." The sweetest, the most honest. He would love to draw more reactions out of him, to have him spent; still, in this, he was a bit hesitant. Raizel thought of making Frankenstein come again and again, relentlessly pleasuring him past completion; thought of denying him that release until that was all Frankenstein could think of, until he could hardly think at all. These thoughts, these images, he let Frankenstein see, and he wondered which he would prefer. But still, he wondered if it was all right to push Frankenstein when he had just woken up.

 

Those images made Frankenstein keen and writhe, bucking against Raizel's hand and teetering close to the edge, crying out for anything, whatever his Master desired. He remembered when Raizel had done both those things, and how good it felt: but it felt more than good enough now, to have those relentless fingers within him, that voice making him blush with such praise. He loved the reminder that Raizel saw sides of him that no one else was allowed to see. Or that Frankenstein could show him things it wasn't safe to show anyone else.

 

If there was a thing more beautiful, more lovely, than who was calling and twisting in a decadent pleasure beneath him, then Raizel did not know it. This type of vulnerability was deceptive, was dangerous, was too good, and Raizel loved it so. He rested his head against Frankenstein's neck, pressing their bodies close and perhaps he should have stripped before this, but he still felt the heat of body against body, of desire against desire. Raizel's eyes flicked downward–a decision–then back up to Frankenstein's face. "Will you come, Frankenstein? Then we can do all  _ I _ desire."

He came, shuddering against the smooth fabric of Master's pants, clutching at the silk of his shirt as everything but Master's name went away. 'All _ I _ desire'–did Master desire something? Trembling in his hold, he licked his lips, feeling a bit of tiredness but willing, always willing. What might please Master? To take Frankenstein, the way Frankenstein had originally wanted? For Frankenstein to use his mouth, lying down comfortably so he didn't strain himself? For the two of them to fall asleep together in the sunlight, after Master wiped Frankenstein down with a warm cloth?

 

Frankenstein had always been so considerate, even when he creased and stained Raizel's clothes. Raizel withdrew his fingers, kissed Frankenstein's cheek. What he always desired was Frankenstein's happiness, that was a given, but for now, he also Frankenstein, sultry and burning. "Undress me," he ordered.

 

Frankenstein let out a breath, relishing how heated his body felt. "Yes, Master," he agreed, paying attention to the words that passed his lips, how he was saying them with such willing submission. Only Master. Always Master. And now he would get to see that beloved body.

Raizel shifted off of Frankenstein and sat up, his bonded rising after him. He felt Frankenstein's gentle hands on his collar, and they trailed down, undoing the buttons with such a care, Raizel was hesitant to breath.

 

There was a pleasant lassitude in his limbs after his recent exertion. It made Frankenstein smile softly as he steadied trembling hands to bare his Master's flesh. Always a pleasure, always an honor–like his own body was only for his Master's eyes, this was for him and him alone. Proof that he was special to his Master.

 

Frankenstein's fingers glided over Raizel's chest as he pushed the shirt back, slid down Raizel's arms as he bared his shoulders and let the fabric fall. Only he could touch Raizel in this way, could unwrap him like a present, because Raizel desired to present himself just as Frankenstein did. When those hands moved lower to his hips, to his pants, Raizel placed a hand on Frankenstein's neck, caressed his cheek with a thumb. "You're beyond special," he said softly.  _ Mine, you're mine _ resonated in his mind again, and yes, beyond special because Raizel had never claimed ownership over anything before or after Frankenstein. Only he was his.

 

"Master, my master." Frankenstein's only Master, the only one he belonged to and with. And Raizel did give him possession of Raizel's body, let him undress it with his eyes and hands, let him cover it jealously with clothing he made, for no one else to see but them.

 

His body, his everything was Frankenstein's even if he did not have much to offer when Frankenstein had offered him his whole world. Raizel did not have a world to offer. A window, a room, a shirt were all he had to give, and when Frankenstein had first set foot in his home, he had only taken the shirt. What else did he have but his body, his heart, his soul? All of these, they were Frankenstein's now as well.

Frankenstein undid his pants, and Raizel moved so that he could pull them all the way down, pull them off, fold them, and set them aside. Raizel was bare now as well, bare and half hard. He watched Frankenstein as he leisurely reached for himself, spreading his legs a bit further.

 

Frankenstein didn't realize until afterwards just how rude it was of him to push Raizel's hand away from his Master's own length. In the moment, it seemed just an extension of disrobing him to wriggle down to take that length into his mouth. As though he had every right to do as he pleased with Master's body, when it was time for Master to take his own pleasures as he wished. "Master, I deserve to die!" he wailed with that beloved cock still in his mouth.

 

Raizel sighed, partially from pleasure, partially from exasperation. For a moment, he wondered if he should be gentle, but... Raizel's hand rested softly on Frankenstein's head, combing through his hair as he savored that wet, hot mouth just a bit. Then, his fingers curled tightly, a fistful of hair as he abruptly pulled Frankenstein's head off of him. "As always, you do as you please."

 

He whimpered, pressing his head to the bed in submission, already missing that wet, hard heat. He had displeased his Master, he thought, cringing and wishing so very much to please him. His enemies considered him utterly shameless, but oh... Although he couldn't regret having that taste. When it was his turn next, he would take Master into his mouth, and... but for now he bowed his head and awaited his Master's pleasure.

 

Raizel's fingers lightly brushed through Frankenstein's hair once more; he hoped he hadn't pulled too hard but Frankenstein needed to know what kind of game they were playing this time. "I will use your mouth when I desire it." But for now, he moved behind Frankenstein, ran his fingers from his neck down his spine, noticing how Frankenstein's back twitched with the movement. Raizel leaned down, his cock resting on Frankenstein. "Not a sound, Frankenstein," he whispered. And swiftly, he grasped Frankenstein's hips, raised them up to his own and pressed all the way inside.

 

_ Oh _ it was so hard not to let out a long, low moan as his Master gave him what he'd wanted. He was still well-stretched–his Master was always so careful with him, so thorough–and Master's words had relaxed him further, that and the strength of the grip on his hair letting him know what was going on so he didn't feel more chastised than he should. Normally Master loved his daring nature, but Frankenstein did enjoy Master's punishments so…

 

Raizel had always enjoyed Frankenstein's sounds, loved it when he moaned or whimpered or gasped, and he missed them whenever he told Frankenstein to be quiet but did so anyway when his bonded felt like being particularly submissive. And it would be a lie to say that Raizel did not appreciate the effort, did not appreciate how Frankenstein would grip and twist the sheets, how he would bite his lip, how his body shook with the want to release his feeling. Raizel appreciated him thoroughly as he thrusted as deep as he could go, fast, as he chased his pleasure.

 

He could feel little vibrations in Frankenstein's chest, could even hear them with a noble's hearing, but a human wouldn't have heard them and Frankenstein was doing his best.

It was pleasure too to have an effect like this on Frankenstein, make his bonded have to fight to keep control in the face of pleasure instead of pain.

 

If he were honest, he would have taken things slower, been utterly careful and gentle, and perhaps just let Frankenstein take him as he pleased, but pleasure was pleasure all the same and this, he knew, pleased Frankenstein, and Frankenstein's pleasure was what Raizel desired most of all. So he was rough, was using a hand to press Frankenstein's head down even as he moved primally within him.

 

Raizel let out a low moan, a breathy "Frankenstein..." How he loved him so, loved how he always tried so hard for everything, for everyone, and even for this, for him. " _ Frankenstein _ ," he called, and for a moment, he almost regretted choosing to take him like this, from behind. They couldn't see each other, and Frankenstein couldn't see how he could undo Raizel just as well, couldn't see how his brow furrowed, how he blushed. But Raizel knew he could feel him, feel him press and pull almost brutally, feel his nails dig in and drag red trails, feel his fangs sink below his skin.

 

The softest moan from Frankenstein then, and he cringed to admit he'd let it slip his control on purpose, but he had to respond when Master said his name like that. He would take any punishment so Master didn't have to call out and hear only silence in answer. Especially when it was so good, Master was being so kind, covering him and giving it to him just the way he liked it.

 

Frankenstein was too sweet for his own good, a sentiment both of them shared about each other. Raizel was pleased to hear his voice, but oh, he had disobeyed, had done as he pleased again, and it was just like him to do so. Raizel stilled, pulled out completely, feeling just a bit guilty, but not guilty enough to completely indulge in Frankenstein. "Do it yourself," he said.

 

Frankenstein  let out an apologetic whine–do what? What did his Master want of him?

 

"If you can make yourself come then perhaps I will reward you with my cock even if you've been quite... impulsive." Raizel sat back, a hand gently teasing himself where he had just been so nicely enveloped by Frankenstein. "Do not stroke yourself," he added.

 

A show of himself for Master then: that was not a punishment, although the loss of that cock was. He nodded, "Yes Master," and trailed his fingers down, letting his eyes slip half-shut. Carefully avoiding his cock, he lifted one hand back up to caress his neck as he fingered his entrance–there was still plenty of lube, he wouldn't need more, he checked before slipping three fingers inside.

Raizel watched closely; Frankenstein always deserved all of his attention, all of his care, and more. And if this were anyone else, Raizel would not find himself so rapt. Indeed, Frankenstein had captured him long ago, had captured him now, because he wouldn't think of turning away as Frankenstein pressed into himself so sweetly for Raizel, because of Raizel.

 

He knew his body well, and looking at Master, thinking of Master, would have helped his cock harden the rest of the way even if he had only a normal human's stamina and refractory period. Master wearing only one of his shirts, looking young and delicate and far from innocent. The shock that ran through his body when his knees hit the floor at Master's order. These and so many more delights he'd experienced at Master's side, in his bed.

 

Frankenstein was always so beautiful, but now, he was dangerously so, for Raizel found himself wanting to crawl forward, drag Frankenstein to him, and have him again. But no, not yet, at least. He would watch, allowing himself to savor with his eyes what he could not see before. Now, he could see all of his bonded, see that stuttering chest, that blushing face, that furrowed brow. See what he thought of him, and Raizel was glad that Frankenstein had enjoyed all they had done, glad that Raizel could give Frankenstein this certain kind pleasure. 

 

Frankenstein had given him so many wonderful things, so many happy memories, and now he could see that he also had given Frankenstein memories that made him pant and squirm in delight.

 

His gaze traveled down Frankenstein's carved abdomen, saw how he sucked his belly in as he took in harsh breath, saw that lonely cock twitch. Saw the little pearl of precome, noticed the tensing in Frankenstein's thighs. "What are you thinking of?" he asked, even if he already knew the answer..

 

"You, Master,"  _ always _ . "The night we made our contract," their first time having such an intimate connection. It still intoxicated Frankenstein, the memory of being accepted on such a deep level, the certainty that he would never be alone again. Surrender and triumph, all in one, to feel that presence penetrating deep inside his very soul.

 

"Hm." Raizel blushed, and normally, he would have turned away because of it, but Frankenstein deserved to see all of him as well, so he looked right at Frankenstein as Frankenstein looked at him and all they could see was each other. All that mattered was each other. Frankenstein,  _ Frankenstein _ and Raizel leaned back on an arm, reached down between his legs, stroked himself and made sure that Frankenstein knew that he was pleasuring himself just on the thought of his bonded as well.

 

Frankenstein could have lain there gazing into Raizel's eyes forever, but seeing Raizel touching himself like that, knowing it was for his sake–his eyes scrunched up and he curled in on himself, gasping for breath as he came.

 

Raizel stared, mesmerized, as he always was. He leaned forward, crawled over Frankenstein and pushed a shoulder back, unfurling Frankenstein's body as his eyes looked over his heated and wet skin. A gentle kiss on his neck, a kiss on his lashes, a whisper in his ear, "I hope you're not done." And Raizel lowered himself to lick the at the dripping head of Frankenstein's cock, licked the come trailing up his stomach.

 

"N..." Frankenstein shut his mouth quickly, remembering that he was supposed to be quiet. He shuddered as his sensitive cock met his Master's hot mouth, but he would never complain. Not about something like this, his Master wanting to lower himself to pleasure him, no, to _ taste  _ him.

He swallowed, then sighed pleasantly.

 

For a moment, he was worried that perhaps this would be too much of a strain on Frankenstein; he was still so sensitive, but 'What  _ I _ desire' he had promised him, and what Raizel desired was to have Frankenstein spent and to spend himself inside him as well. So, he pressed his cock into Frankenstein, slowly this time, delighting in the sweet swallow of flesh.

 

Frankenstein jerked as Raizel entered him, but after a moment tightened around him for a moment and nodded. Frankenstein wanted him to keep going, wanted him to _ take _ .

 

Raizel moved with earnest then, though always keeping his careful attention on Frankenstein. He stroked Frankenstein's hair, a soothing gesture; then, his lips to a kiss, deep, swallowing whatever breath they had as a hand gently took a hold of Frankenstein's cutely sensitive length, fingers gently pressing, gently working.

 

Slowly in his hand Frankenstein hardened, coming to attention when his Master paid careful attention to him. Gentle, his Master was always so gentle with him, he could do whatever he wished and what he wished was this. To be with Frankenstein, to know him in every way, deep inside.

 

And for Frankenstein to know Raizel just as well, know him so, they were practically the same person, and when they were joined like this, too close for even breath, Raizel only desired ever more to be closer still, to dive into that very flesh, that very soul, to share minds and bodies. He wanted to be one, to rest within and around Frankenstein, to be  _ wielded _ by him and only him. But they were two people, two bodies. But at least, at least they could do this and Raizel bit Frankenstein again on his neck and as the warm blood slid down his throat, he closed his eyes to still his trembling lashes, feeling Frankenstein's very being and letting Frankenstein feel him just as much. They were resonating, were soaring.

 

And Frankenstein clung to him, wanted him, wanted this. Desperately so, pushing down around and against him, loving him, taking him in and accepting him. Taking him into his home and his life when he had managed so long without Raizel, both times, but even though he did not need Raizel, he wanted him, loved him so much. This much.

"Frankenstein," Raizel moaned but perhaps it was more of a prayer, a hymn, and he too was desperate, desperately loving because oh, it was never enough. "Frankenstein," and his throat tightened and he was panting. "Frankenstein..." He did not know how he had such fortune to have met him, much less have him, but now that he did, he would keep him. The thought of losing what a person, what a world, no, that was too much and it only made Raizel press their bodies closer, grip Frankenstein tighter. Love him, and love him more.

 

They could never have enough of each other as long as they lived, and yet at the same time as long as they were together it was enough. They needed nothing else. Together they made a home, a family, and went from starvation to having a surfeit, enough to share with the children they had taken in.

 

"Fran–" Raizel shuddered, buried his face in Frankenstein's hair, bit down perhaps a bit too hard on the neck that he had come to find so sweet as he shook with his release, released deep into Frankenstein. And such a pleasure, such a privilege to mark him on the inside. Frankenstein's body shook around him, caressed him inside, and when he looked he saw that Frankenstein's eyes were closed as if in prayer to a god who deserved it. To Frankenstein, that god was Raizel.

 

Raizel let out a long breath, content, languid, soft. "You're courageous,"  he whispered. "You're heroic." He reached around to almost cradle Frankenstein's head, petting him. "You're...far greater than me," even if Frankenstein were to disagree.

 

His human smiled for him and whispered into his wrist that, "You're kind." A kiss pressed to it. "You're patient, and love the small things." Like Frankenstein. "You're everything I live for. You embody everything I serve." Goodness and kindness to strangers just because they shared this world, no matter who they were. People deserving to have kindness, to have a happy life. Honor, but that he wouldn't say because Raizel was the noblesse. Honor was to be expected of him, but that made it no less precious. It was simply that there was so much more to Raizel than the Noblesse, than what could be expected of anyone.

 

"You're more than I deserve." Raizel smiled shyly. "But I will still have you."

 

"Yes," Frankenstein let out on a breath, because he felt the same. Raizel was far more than he deserved, and yet he couldn't restrain himself from clinging as tight as he could, from giving Raizel himself in hopes that Raizel would keep him.

 

He–they were bubbly on the inside, so very happy to be together, to be safe, to be the same. Raizel wanted to hold Frankenstein close and have them just, together, and drift in a soft haze, but, not quite yet. He hesitantly parted from Frankenstein, carefully but quickly got off the bed–he didn't want Frankenstein cold–and went to the bathroom to come back with a couple towels that Frankenstein always made sure were the softest. The bed dipped as he sat down, and carefully, he wiped Frankenstein with the damp one, starting with his face and working down. "After this, will you rest, Frankenstein? And I will rest with you."

 

He nodded, feeling small inside. Dwarfed by the one who cared for him, by the depth of that caring. "Yes." Yes, please. "Yes, Master." My Master, who will keep me by his side. Safe. Together. He welcomed the touch of the towels, proof that Master had put the same attention into learning how to care for him that he had the rest of his studies, but he nosed into the hand that finally came to cup his cheek and sighed softly, taking a deep breath and relaxing.

 

A pleased hum, a gentle look as Raizel wiped his thighs then between them, then slowly, he worked to Frankenstein's feet. And when he finished wiping one, a kiss, and Raizel smiled to himself at the thought that perhaps Frankenstein might see it as almost blasphemous for Raizel to kiss someone's feet. He did the same to the other foot.

 

Frankenstein looked doting–he often did, when it was only the two of them. Soft and tired. Languorous. He didn't seem to have it in him to object to anything Raizel did, although he was never slow to judge the actions of others.

 

When he was done, with the towels put away in their proper place and with his proper place besides Frankenstein, the cover pulled over their lower bodies, Raizel rested his head on Frankenstein's chest. They were lying down now, and if Frankenstein wanted to get up, he would have to make Raizel move first. He wrapped an arm around Frankenstein's waist and listened to the always hopeful sound of heartbeat. He hoped he could hear it forever. Hoped it would never stutter and stop and be drowned out by the screams of the souls only he and Frankenstein could hear. So "thank you," he murmured again, because he could hear him still.

 

"Thank you, Master." Frankenstein turned enough to press a kiss to Master's cheek. Here with Master wrapped around him he was already starting to feel drowsy. His Master was fine and he wouldn't have indulged Frankenstein if the children needed assistance, so he could be secure that there was no reason not to take a little more time to rest and recover from the injury. He was safe–they were safe. Safe and here and home.

 

Frankenstein wrapped his arm around his Master and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qdeanna and I switched roles - I've taken Raizel, she's taken Frankenstein in this chapter and probably the next one. Who takes who in the chapter after that (possibly in more ways than one) may depend upon feedback?

Raizel sighed over his cup of tea. Franken was teasing the children again, even though Frankenstein of all people should be elegantly silent on the subject of people's tempers. Should Raizel break his own silence and talk about Frankenstein's temper to reassure the children that their tempers were nothing to speak of compared to Frankenstein's—there had been more incidents with the clan leaders—or perhaps he should say, "Frankenstein," so the children would see him reining Frankenstein in when he was making the children uncomfortable.

Frankenstein turned to focus when Master called, as always, but he still couldn't help the slight, sly smile. A glinting glance to the children once more, but then Raizel had him and his attention. "Master?"

Raizel sighed again. "You are being naughty as usual." He took a sip of his tea. Frankenstein was younger than him, and naughty children were punished, based on how Mr. Park assigned Shinwoo laps. "Keep making the children uncomfortable, Frankenstein, and I will have to punish you." As Frankenstein's Master he was responsible for his behavior, even if he had very little control over what Frankenstein took it into his head to do.

Frankenstein blinked, cleared his throat into a fist. He never doubted Master, never wished to, but the thought of punishment always perplexed him, amused him, pleased him, because, Frankenstein thought, Master could never punish him truly, at least in the sense of making him experience something unpleasant, for Master was always a delight. So, Frankenstein couldn't help the sharp smile, couldn't help the danger in the air as he dismissed the children with an ominous warning about being too impulsive, too willing to put themselves in danger.

"Ah," He caught himself a bit too late then, that he was being disobedient. Quickly, he turned to Master, a slight bow. “My apologies."

Frankenstein was certainly the type that did not listen. For one thing, he clearly hadn't listened to the words about how people should not put themselves in danger that had just come out of his mouth. Raizel sipped his tea in lieu of sighing again. What was he to do with Frankenstein?

At least Frankenstein didn't seem too dismayed to be rebuked, he wasn't saying that he deserved to die. The thought of receiving punishment must have pleased him. Raizel gave Frankenstein a stately nod. "I will decide your punishment at bedtime," he promised his bonded, so Frankenstein had something to look forward to.

"Yes, Master," was his steady response even when his heart skipped a beat. He hoped his smile wasn't too obvious; punishment was not something one was supposed to look forward to, but how could he not be eager for Master? They met, eyes to eyes, will to will. And at bedtime, at bedtime, perhaps they would meet with more than just souls.

Frankenstein was pleased—more than that, his want carried across their bond. Raizel did not see the need to scold him for opening it and allowing his emotion to flood Raizel's mind when it was emotions like these. Having the bond open when he was happy made Franken happier, so it was well worth the imposition. He never minded Frankenstein's talkative nature—he made more noise when he was happy. Of course, he also made noise when he was unhappy, but he also made his enemies make noise. And their battles.

So that went well. Raizel was worried that pointing out that Frankenstein was bothering the children would make him feel that shame, that choking emotion that made him want to die. Pleasant anticipation was the best response he could have hoped for.

He drank his tea, resolved to keep watch over the children until they went to bed. Then he would study until it was time to put Frankenstein to bed.

Frankenstein smiled softly; indeed, Master was not capable of punishment outside of his duty as the Noblesse, because he saw how Master watched the children with such care, saw him attend to his studies with such earnest, saw him cast glances at Frankenstein throughout the day, measuring ones, and Frankenstein would always look back at him, a  _ you have my attention _ . And when Frankenstein was puttering about in the labs or cooking dinner, he found himself wondering  _ what will you do to me? _ but restrained from asking. Master would decide as he would and Frankenstein would know when the time came.

Frankenstein was an inquisitive person, but he never questioned Raizel, trusting that Raizel would tell him things when it was best for him to know them, if it was needful. It was pleasant to feel that mix of anticipation and calm through the link: no fear of punishment. No fear of the deadly Noblesse.

Raizel could only be grateful for Frankenstein's bravery, always.

He poured Master the evening tea; a nightly ritual in their room when they had a period of calm. A sweet aroma, a sleeping house, a lovely Master seated on the bed. Frankenstein enjoyed these things so, so he didn't mind waiting for whatever Master was to do to him.

Very few people would believe him if he said that Frankenstein was restful, but his lack of fear, his calm trust: Raizel felt more at peace with Frankenstein by his side than he had in thousands of years of solitude.

He allowed himself some time to enjoy them, letting Frankenstein's anticipation build. Although he was, on the whole, relieved that Frankenstein wasn't too excited: he wanted his bonded to sleep. One advantage of planning something for Frankenstein's bedtime was that he didn't forget his bedtime and become engrossed in some exciting project in the lab that left his mind whirling. No, Frankenstein's mind was full of Raizel's slight smile, his hands.

His eyes, his lips, his neck, his legs, his everything. If Master was going to take his time, as he usually did, Frankenstein had all that much longer to look, to notice, to appreciate, to gaze with soft desire and softer affection at he whom he called Master.

"Shall I refill your cup, Master?" 

Raizel considered, then shook his head. "Remove your pants, Frankenstein."

Oh, and Frankenstein did so as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it was, given how often he found himself disrobing in front of Master. For a moment, he considered asking if Master would like assistance with his own clothing, but Frankenstein simply folded the slacks, placed them on the edge of the bed, and awaited the next command.

Raizel sat down in a chair next to the bed. "Your underthings as well, Frankenstein," he added, "but leave the shirt." A symbol of the stolen one, something to indicate that Frankenstein had committed a crime and would be punished.

Frankenstein did as he was told without a pause, for what was his body when Master already had his soul, his heart, his will?

"Come here, Frankenstein," Raizel said, indicating the floor next to his chair with an imperious hand. There was no need to use power to make Frankenstein kneel. The only difficulty would be when Frankenstein discovered that his punishment would be that he was not allowed to pleasure Raizel, who intended to take his time tonight. He would begin by stroking Frankenstein's hair, he had decided.

Frankenstein closed his eyes, appreciating the smooth, light touching. He didn't remember when he had started to enjoy fingers running through his hair so much, or perhaps it was because Master enjoyed it that he found it pleasing as well. Not that it really mattered how or when it happened, just that it was happening now and he leaned into those fingers and hoped it was alright of him to do so.

Raizel could see that his Bonded was thinking, but he was almost always thinking. It took quite awhile spent teasing him before Frankenstein started to lose the track of his thoughts. He kept caressing that full head, that hair kept silken partially because Frankenstein was proud of his appearance—he deserved to be proud of his work—and partially for the enjoyment of Raizel's hands. The knowledge that what he touched was his seemed impossible: too precious, too delicate to be entrusted to anyone. But Frankenstein's shoulders, however strong, grew tired from being burdened with the fate of the world, so Raizel would do what his Bonded asked of him, what he promised in exchange for this human becoming Raizel's Bonded, and coax him to relax with the gentle scratching behind his ears and rubbing of his scalp.

Frankenstein deserved to set down his burdens long enough to sleep.

Not that Raizel intended to let him sleep right away: there was the matter of his punishment first.

A little shiver when Master scratched him in just the right place, a sigh. And Raizel was always so gentle, too gentle, as if he were always wary of hurting, of breaking the human at his feet, of the man who willingly kneeled before him in more ways than one, hoping to maybe be broken just a little by such pleasing, delicate hands. If this was what Master considered punishment, Frankenstein wouldn't mind being disobedient just occasionally, not that he planned on disobeying.

It just happened, because Frankenstein was naturally naughty. Being obedient was a strain for him: Raizel knew that well and made allowances, but there were limits and making the children feel like they were bad was one of them. "On the bed, Frankenstein," he murmured when... it wasn't that he'd had enough of petting Frankenstein, he never would. He simply felt it was time to pet him elsewhere, to coax more pretty sounds out of him.

Frankenstein rose and gazed at Master when he was on the bed, leaning back on his arms, head tilted and eyes looking up through his lashes, falsely bashful and more than a bit playful. He was reminded, then, of his attempts at seduction long ago when Raizel knew nothing of this sort of thing, and how far they had come. "Master," he said, low and hopefully tempting.

Raizel crossed to the bed, sitting with his legs crossed elegantly next to Frankenstein's chest. He began petting him through the fabric, tracing his hand over a nipple, then caressing up the line of his neck, watching that elegant curve arch for him, exposing veins he would not sample tonight, although he could still appreciate their beauty, the temptation and the vulnerability.

He swallowed when Master reached his neck. It was tempting to close his eyes again, do all he could to savor such delicate touches, but he looked, looked up at Master's eyes, stared at them in some vague hope to be swallowed up, and he let out a breath. Did Master see how he easily affected Frankenstein so?

Giving Frankenstein a nod, Raizel shifted the pillows himself so he could lean against the head of the bed. "Come here, Frankenstein," he said, gesturing toward his chest for Frankenstein to lean there. He wouldn't allow Frankenstein to pleasure him, but he recognized Frankenstein's desire for more, more closeness, and he could never deny him that.

Not when Raizel wanted it just as desperately.

Frankenstein rested his head against Master's chest and doing this was always a comfort; it reminded him that they were both alive, hearts still beating, skin still warm, and how much he wanted to touch that skin beneath that silk, slide his hands over it, slide it into himself. But that was for Master to decide. So all he could do was turn his head a bit, press his cheek a bit firmer against Master's chest, breathe in the soft sweet scent of tea and soap. He couldn't help it though, when his hand slid down to caress at Master's thigh. He hoped that at least this much was allowed, but it was too late to ask.

Raizel gently slid Frankenstein's hand away, leaving it pressed against the outside of his thigh. That much he could give him, to allow Frankenstein to touch him. He winced inwardly, remembering that day in the gazebo, Frankenstein's piteous response to Raizel not caring to seek his own pleasure. He hoped this punishment wouldn't draw too many heart-rending whimpers from dear Frankenstein, who was so warm and solid pressed up against him, Raizel wanted to wrap an arm around him and do as Frankenstein wished: never let him go.

Even in his dismissal, Master was careful. A pity, but Frankenstein was being punished after all; he should not be too greedy even if he had been nothing but that all of his life. A huff against Master's chest, his hand still pressed against Raizel's thigh.

Raizel slid a hand down his back, feeling the sturdy, rough silk of his shirt, the slight nubs of texture and wishing he could feel that skin, but it was part of Frankenstein's punishment. In a bit, he would tell Frankenstein to lie back down and slide his hands down those thighs, but for now he could still feel Frankenstein's strong back muscles and feel his Bonded's warm breath against his chest. His Franken was a little miffed to be thwarted, but still content, still happy, and that was always something to savor.

Raizel had known that punishing him would be difficult, but he was almost cringing from the thought of it, even though he'd forced himself to sentence others without allowing a trace of pain to show in his expression. But Frankenstein, Frankenstein was something else entirely.

"Master..." Frankenstein crooned as he arched just slightly into Master, loving the touch but still hoping for more. They were still shirt to shirt, and for a moment, Frankenstein found their clothing distasteful, wishing them off, even though he always took such care in both of their appearances. He sighed and brushed a bare knee against Master's leg.

Frankenstein's voice was as lovely as every inch of him, and Raizel gladly bore with having his clothing mussed by Frankenstein's affection. It was well worth it, and Frankenstein made this shirt in the first place, so it was his to disarrange if he wished to be closer to the one he called Master. He kissed Frankenstein's forehead: it was impossible not to be touched by Frankenstein's wish for closer, impossible not to wish to give him more when he cried out for it. But for now Raizel only graced him with the kiss and renewed his caresses, no more than that. He would shower Frankenstein with affection slowly, build it up piece by piece for his Bonded to appreciate, until Frankenstein was utterly relaxed and warm. If he was content then the news of his punishment would hopefully not upset him too much.

Oh, how much they appreciated each other, how much Frankenstein felt held, felt close. He pressed into those kisses, sighed at the possibility of skin but not yet allowed to have it. He would be patient; Master would have what he wanted. Even so, he had to bite back from requesting for more, at least out loud.

Frankenstein wasn't desperate: he was able to restrain himself, which was good for Raizel's ability to restrain himself. When Frankenstein was desperately craving, he would rather tear off the arm he used to write and do assignments than feel the pain of denying his Bonded. "I will sate you," Raizel promised, but kept his face firm. "But not allow you to give me pleasure. This is your punishment, Frankenstein." And he was only mostly sure he had kept the note of apology out of his voice, kept it hidden from the link. He wanted to take it back as soon as he had spoken it as much as he wished he could spare Urokai and Zarga, but at least Frankenstein would live. He reminded himself of that, that Frankenstein would never force Raizel to execute him. Had given up his will so Raizel could do that rather than execute him... but oh, Raizel could never harm that shining will, would much rather go with his Bonded into death if it came to that.

Frankenstein held back a whine. That was what Master had decided, and that was what it would be. But, even as he pressed his face into Raizel's chest, took in his scent, slid his leg, his hand against Master, he couldn't help lamenting and picturing all the things he wouldn't be allowed to do. To have Master in him, to suck him, to swallow him, have him call out to Frankenstein with soft pleasure, to give him a fraction of what he deserved. "Master," he murmured, slightly strained, but did not hope for mercy; it was not his place to hope for such things.

His hand did not tremble as he stroked Frankenstein's hair again, desperately hoping that this would soothe his Bonded. His heart was strong but so precious he could not help feeling that it was delicate. The fact that Frankenstein had survived many wounds simply was further proof he deserved none of them, should be kept from harm. It would be so, so easy for Raizel to hurt him, but the wrongness of that thought! If he hurt Frankenstein, as he had... Frankenstein was wrong to think that he deserved to die for such little things so often, but making Frankenstein feel pain was not a little thing. He had felt in Frankenstein's breathing that he had suppressed the desire to make some sound, to cry out for mercy, and all he could do was wrap an arm around him, try to keep him warm and well. What if he couldn't make Frankenstein feel loved enough without opening the bond?

"Yours completely," Frankenstein said, mostly to himself. He never needed any reminder that he was Master's, but still, it was an affirmation to both of them that Master could do anything to him, even cause him pain, and that pain, he knew, would not be undeserved. Because Frankenstein could only give himself to Raizel if he trusted Master's judgement, and he did, absolutely.

And Raizel was Frankenstein's... but not tonight. Was it wrong of him to hold himself back from his Bonded? His chest felt tight: he had never doubted his will so terribly. "Frankenstein... should I choose another punishment?" he asked, even though he had never relented before. Never had the option of relenting before, but if this was too much for his Bonded then he could relent, could give him mercy, and choose again.

Frankenstein lifted his head from Raizel's chest and looked at him with such tender wonder. Master, oh, Master, his careful, sweet Raizel. He smiled; if Frankenstein were to choose, that wouldn't be much of a punishment at all, but then, surrendering control completely to Master was a pleasure as well. "Whatever you desire, Master." A consoling nod. “Punish me as you see fit."

Oh his wonderful Frankenstein, Raizel thought, feeling his chest ease. He knew the relief showed on his face and was glad, because Frankenstein should know how much better he'd made Raizel feel. Why was he the one called Master when his heart was in the palm of Frankenstein's hand, just as Frankenstein's will was in his? Frankenstein could so easily close his fingers around Raizel and crush him, the Noblesse as delicate as any wineglass, but Frankenstein would never. All the power his control over Raizel offered, and he refused to use it: unthinkable that he would abuse it. Impossible. He pulled Frankenstein up gently to kiss him on the lips: that much pleasure he couldn't restrain himself from taking, but pleasuring Frankenstein was itself a pleasure, so in reality he would deny himself nothing tonight. It was the most wonderful thing in the world to hold his Bonded, when his Bonded was impossibly precious.

A pleased sound, glad that Master was reassured, and Frankenstein was right, Master really could not punish him truly, not when what pleased Raizel pleased him as well. He did not know, however, how much of Raizel he would be allowed tonight and so took the opportunity to kiss Master deeply, tangling tongues in a desperate attempt to savor him.

So sweet, Frankenstein was always so sweet it intoxicated Raizel, made him bunch up Frankenstein's shirt in his hands and not even feel sorry. The mess of his own clothing was his own punishment for punishing Frankenstein: it was just that he should suffer alongside his bonded, so Frankenstein didn't have to suffer alone anymore. It would bother him, but how could he care for such things when Frankenstein was in his arms, so willing and so sweet? He knew he'd let Frankenstein have control over the kiss, but he couldn't bring himself to play Master right now. He would let Frankenstein have a minute, and a minute more. Let him give him this much pleasure.

"Master..." Frankenstein breathed, just a breath, before pressing his lips to soft lips again. He wanted to taste, to swallow, to worship.

Raizel could feel Frankenstein's desire rising both in the force of his kiss and the firmness of the length pressing against his leg. There would be such a mess, but letting Frankenstein clean the clothing would be part of his punishment, Raizel thought, licking his Bonded's lip when Frankenstein pulled back for a heated breath. Or there would be less mess if he drank Frankenstein down, he thought. Yes, yes that would be best. He had thought of just laying together and petting Frankenstein until Frankenstein shuddered and came against him, but he was already letting Frankenstein have his mouth for this kiss. It shouldn't void the punishment if he let him have his mouth for his cock, as much as Raizel enjoyed the taste when it was Frankenstein's.

A kiss, just kisses, and Frankenstein already found himself firm and breathy with desire, and how much he wanted to press his mouth to Master's neck, run his hands through his hair, undo his shirt and have and please and praise that body, that being. But he was not to do those things, not tonight but he would worship Master still, if not with pleasure, then with want and obedience. At least Frankenstein would try, even as his hips began to rock slightly against Master's thigh.

Or if that was what Frankenstein wanted, to cleave to his Master, then what could Raizel do but allow it? He ran his hands down Frankenstein's back and brought them up under his shirt, pressing Frankenstein to him encouragingly and giving him that much of skin against skin.

“Master," he called, a drawn out sort of whine he allowed himself, and he wanted more of him, because Master's hand on his back, their bodies pressed so close, but... "Master," again and Frankenstein could only call out in lieu of having Raizel as he would, of touching him and pleasing him, as if calling for him would bring them closer instead. A shiver when he shifted his hips more firmly, shamelessly rubbing himself against Master.

"Frankenstein," Raizel murmured. "I'm here, Frankenstein." He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, felt the weight of Frankenstein against his body and hoped his Bonded felt the same. He had been so hurt by being alone that he was even willing to make a Contract, when all he knew of Contracts was that they could be abused. He'd been willing to be bound by blood rather than be alone. Raizel wanted desperately to keep Frankenstein by his side so he did not have to feel that way. For as long as he lived he would do that for his Bonded.

"You...You're..." and Frankenstein did not know what to say, did not know how to describe him, how to describe his want. So a soft groan, and he looked up, looked to Master's eyes, looked to his god for...something. Redemption, love, everything, for everything he could desire. "Master," and he was breathless and yearning, slick and smearing against that leg that he wished was not still clothed.

Raizel went to kiss him in answer, offering gentleness but eager to have his mouth taken by Frankenstein's hungry need. He wanted to shush Frankenstein, run his fingers through his hair, reassure him that Raizel would give him everything he needed, but not this night. Tomorrow, and the one after, for as long as they lived he would come to Frankenstein's bed and give his beloved pleasure, rest and ease. How like Frankenstein to want more than that, to want to give another pleasure instead of merely taking his own! His honor matched his sweetness, was why Raizel had no fear of giving another access to the power of the Noblesse. But that power was the least of what Frankenstein wanted of him. Frankenstein would trade it in a heartbeat for his mouth, for the chance to strip him and curl together in ecstasy.

He moaned; a hot, sweet mouth, too sweet for him, for anyone, but he loved it, craved it. His hand, gripping Master's shirt, and he had to restrain himself from tugging at the fabric too much so as to tear it away. "Have me, Master," a sigh, a burning look. "Have me, and I will will worship you completely." And he already did.

"Not tonight, Frankenstein," Raizel said, hoping he managed his usual sternness. He sighed, to let Frankenstein see how he wished he could let Frankenstein worship him with fingertips and lips and tongue, when that was what Frankenstein wanted. "Tomorrow, you may do as you please." And he would of course: this was Frankenstein, "but tonight you are being punished for making the children feel bad." Frankenstein had to agree that was something that required punishment.

The force of Frankenstein's grip, the sweetness of his moan and of his plea... so beautiful, almost as beautiful as the soul that curled around Raizel's own, but not tonight. Sometimes Frankenstein's misbehavior was truly regrettable. This was much worse than having the clan leaders come to him to complain.

Almost a whimper, but he did not wish to discourage Master. So "Tomorrow," he repeated softly instead. "Tomorrow, I will have you, I will pleasure you, Master." He swallowed, shuddered, and what a mess he was leaving on that thigh but he loved the friction on his cock. "I will suck you until you come, and I'll swallow when you do deep down my throat. I will have you in me, Master."

Raizel couldn't help blushing at Frankenstein's words, but he knew that Franken liked that. "Take me as you please, Frankenstein. I am yours to take, but tomorrow."

Lovely, lovely Frankenstein, pushing against him without shame or hesitation, gaining pleasure not only from the motion against him but the thought of sharing pleasure with him. How could anyone deserve such a beautiful soul? He wanted to kiss him again, but he also didn't want to silence such sweet words...

"Tomorrow, I will make it all up and more," and at least in this way, Frankenstein would not have to feel too guilty for not pleasing Master tonight. "But now, will you ravish me Master? Bend me to your will? Pass judgment upon me?"

He looked thoughtful: no, he had already decided to give Frankenstein his mouth, and his hands, so no he did not mind giving Frankenstein more pleasure, if Frankenstein wanted more than a simple embrace. "Lay back," he told him, shifting further down the bed when Frankenstein complied, removing his weight from Raizel. "Spread," he ordered, a hand on Frankenstein's thighs.

And he did. Frankenstein looked down and he hoped to sight of his body pleased Master, even if he himself could not.

Raizel pressed a kiss to the inside of each of those trembling, eager thighs. So soft, so strong, so delicious when wrapped around him. Then he sat up again to take the oil from the bedside drawer, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had forgotten it until then. He held it up for Frankenstein to see him carefully slicking his fingers.

Breathtaking, and Frankenstein was breathtaken as the oil dripped from Master's hand onto him. "What will you do to me, Master?" he asked, wondering if he was allowed to know, even if he was already anticipating what was to come. And he laid there, hoping to be just as seductive as Master was to him, his face, his body, heated and waiting.

"You have already had my mouth and my fingertips tonight: I will take you with them," Raizel told him seriously—not that he expected Frankenstein to object to this. Not when Frankenstein was doing his delightful best to be tempting, but oh, he did not need to try at all, not when his will and mind had made him so beautiful, soul marked by his choices just as much as the body he had chosen.

"Please do,” he huffed. Frankenstein spread his legs wider, and smiled up at Master, sharp and sultry, eyes alight, and he realized that he was not behaving as one receiving a punishment should.

It relieved his Master, if anything. Frankenstein was irrepressible as always, knowing he deserved pleasure and not thinking that he deserved any of the torments he had endured. Raizel carefully traced his outside with the first finger, looking down at him still just to enjoy how Frankenstein looked as Raizel slipped it inside.

Oh, he hoped Master would not be too slow in taking him, not that he had any right to make such demands now, but even if he were not stretched, Frankenstein still desired to have all of him now, to have Master press inside and relentlessly pleasure them both. "Master," he moaned, his expression still playful, a hand reaching up to the side of his own neck and how he would love to feel fang marks there.

Raizel let out a sigh: Frankenstein was clearly still hoping for things he was not allowed tonight. Instead of chiding him, he carefully thrusted the finger in and out, and when he was satisfied added a second before bending his head to lap at the wet tip of Frankenstein's cock.

He always blushed when Master did this. Something about Master's cute mouth on his own hard cock, Mastering lowering himself for something like this, but he always enjoyed it nonetheless, enjoyed that wicked tongue and warm breath. "Mmn...Master," and he tried not to thrust, not to buck, as he watched.

It always moved him to see Frankenstein tremble, either in a rush to soothe him or now, knowing that Frankenstein was trying to restrain himself as though he could possibly do Raizel some harm by letting himself move. Or was he trying to be obedient? Raizel stroked the curve of his hip with his free hand, to soothe him a little, and let out a pleased hum around Frankenstein, taking in just the tip as his two fingers worked within him. So sweet, even in the grip of passion.

Frankenstein's feet shifted on the bed, rustling the sheets, a soft gasp, a shaky sigh, and he could feel just a bit how his jaw tightened, his cock twitched, how he wanted to move and be fully enveloped by Master and to have Master move in him, press and reach in a body he knew too well. But he told himself to be still; he had taken too many liberties tonight already.

Raizel pressed gently at that place within Frankenstein as he slowly took more of him into his mouth. More for his Bonded, who deserved everything.

A shame Frankenstein wouldn't be able to do the same for Raizel. But, they could share pleasure still, and hesitantly, he sent his feelings down the bond. Perhaps he was breaking the rules, but he really could not help it. To give Master the same pleasures he had, it was almost instinct at this point. And did Master feel, how hot and wet Frankenstein was in his mouth? How lovely it was when the tips of his fangs scraped his sensitive flesh? Could he feel the shivers that went up Frankenstein's spine when those fingers, controlled and knowing, rubbed against him just so? Feel the breath leave Frankenstein's lungs, feel the arch of his back and neck?

Raizel hesitated, because he had decided to leave the bond closed tonight for just that reason: it was a way they shared pleasure, one of the many things Frankenstein gave him.

Yet the Noblesse found himself relenting, as he opened Frankenstein wide enough for a fourth finger, and it was alright to do so. It was alright to feel as his Bonded felt, the better to pleasure him and taste all of the sounds that Frankenstein managed to suppress. It was alright to clench his legs together and try not to become inflamed—but Frankenstein inflamed him so easily—because it fit the punishment, for him to want Frankenstein and not to take him the way Frankenstein would surely wish even harder once he knew that Raizel wanted. It was alright.

Small sounds, noises that he hoped pleased Master, gasps that became moans, that became calling and praise. Along with the wet sounds of when flesh and flesh and mouth. And Frankenstein relented then, allowing his hips to move, his thighs to tremble ever more, and he was wide for Master, if only Master would use him justly; he was certainly loose enough. He was panting, his hips rolling and  _ Master _ , "Master, please..."

"No, Frankenstein," Raizel said through their bond, his mouth sucking unrelentingly. "This is your punishment." He had already given in once, and nearly given in entirely at the beginning: he must not again, but all his self-control deserted him when Frankenstein was crying out in longing. He pressed against him within the bond, hurrying to console him as his mouth worked and fingers pressed, trying to overcome him with pleasure so he didn't hear Raizel's words. Impossible, when Frankenstein would fight and talk as Dark Spear tormented him, but he could hope to at least reassure his Bonded that Raizel still wanted to take him. He let some of that want through the bond, hoping that it would reassure him instead of make Frankenstein want to punish himself, for being the reason Raizel couldn't have what he wanted.

All that Frankenstein could ever want was with Raizel, and when Raizel wanted him, Frankenstein could only hurry and give everything. "Master," a breathy cry, a reaching out with his voice, with his will, to  _ give _ even when Master would not take what he wanted. Indeed, Raizel never took anything but lives, and that only brought him sorrow, so when Raizel wanted him, how could he deny him anything?

"All of me, Master," Frankenstein managed between pleasured sounds. "It's all yours," to take, to leave, to play, to please, to break. And Frankenstein scrunched his eyes shut gripped at the sheets, felt the heat, the mouth, the hand, felt  _ Master _ .

Oh, Frankenstein. His beautiful, glorious love. Raizel had to swallow him down at that, would have had to even if he needed to breathe, because he needed Frankenstein as much as any human could ever need air. The bond between them didn't give him life, but it made life a pleasure when before it was slow, such painfully slow torture. He went from wanting to die to thinking that life... it could be spent with Frankenstein. Wrapped around him, buried in him, drinking him down, blood and soul flowing between them.

Frankenstein gave him so much and all he could do was give him with pitiful little he could in exchange. The pleasure of his company, because pleasure it seemed to be to Frankenstein. The touch of his hands, the adoration in his eyes and soul. He savored the salt taste in his mouth, felt the heat around his hands and wanted them, wanted him so very much, always.

Frankenstein was at a loss for words, for air. He  _ had _ to have come, when Raizel adored him so, even if he tried to hold back, to give Master some sort of warning or ask for permission, but he shook with the pleasure, with the want—Master's want.

He could only call "Master," again and again as he gasped because he was what he desired most of all, desired just as strongly as he was desired by Raizel. But, "My...my apologies," he said, because surely, he was supposed to ask for permission first.

Raizel carefully licked him clean, knowing that was important to Frankenstein and also that his love would be sad if he used power. When he carefully removed his lips from that sensitive cock and slipped his fingers out of Frankenstein's willing body, he said, "Good, Frankenstein." Now he did use just a little power, to clean his hands before stroking Frankenstein's hair, admiring the glazed look in blue eyes, the reddening of his cheeks, the softly panting breath.

He wanted so much to have him in that moment, but he scolded himself. Frankenstein only slept for a quarter of an hour, perhaps half an hour when he was well. He could wait that long.

Frankenstein leaned into the hand, his breath settling. Punishment and it perplexed him, amused him, pleased him. "You delight me, Master," undeservingly so.

Raizel sighed, because what was he to say to that? Humans were inventive, and he hadn't learned a fraction of what they had created yet, but he very much doubted there were words to equal what Frankenstein did to him. He patted his Bonded on the head in apology. "Rest, Frankenstein," he ordered, trying to hide his eagerness. To see Frankenstein fall asleep, warm and loose and open, resting in Raizel's arms... and then to see him awaken, alert and eager to please, falling upon him in playful lust...

Frankenstein closed his eyes, pressed close to Master, smiled, and he would obediently sleep, because  _ tomorrow _ he had promised Master and himself, and it was only a slumber away.


	6. Chapter 6

Raizel gazed down at the sleeping Franken and almost didn't want him to wake. Not that he wished for Frankenstein to enter eternal sleep! But Frankenstein seemed so beautiful in his sleep, innocent of all cares. Except when Dark Spear gave him nightmares, but Raizel was here to soothe those away. Protectively, he checked Frankenstein's sleeping mind for traces of Dark Spear's influence, even though his first warning was usually Frankenstein swallowing, growing just a bit pale and clinging to Raizel even tighter.

And at Master's presence, Frankenstein woke, pressing his face against Raizel's thigh (now clean, he noted). He sighed, content. "I slept well, Master," he reassured.

That was good, but Raizel sighed, missing the cute sleeping Franken. Not that Franken was incapable of being equally cute when he was awake, and now that Frankenstein was awake, the term of his punishment was over.

It was still dark outside; Frankenstein had only slept for a half an hour or so, they still had plenty of time for just them before the rest of the household were expected for breakfast. Even so, Frankenstein somewhat regrettably parted from Master to 'freshen up' in the bathroom. It was almost pointless, but it was a comforting routine nonetheless, something expected of a normal human. He returned quickly though, not wanting to keep Master waiting, his hair brushed, his shirt straightened. He looked softly at Master for a moment, appreciating that he had a master, a Raizel to return to at all; they would always wait for each other. "Should I get you your morning tea, Master?"

Raizel frowned. Was Frankenstein not feeling well? It was not like him to fail to pounce on an opportunity. "Your punishment is over, Frankenstein." Raizel was his to have as Frankenstein wished. 

It wasn't that Raizel had expected Frankenstein to fling himself at Raizel... not that he disliked the few times that Frankenstein had played the aggressor, pouncing at him and biting at his neck with an almost desperate hunger that made Raizel go weak at the knees.

Oh and Frankenstein had to smile. How cute; how could he resist? He hadn't wanted to come across as...too eager. As easy as it was for Raizel to undo him, Frankenstein had hoped to have at least some semblance of self control, but Master knew him too well. "Yes, Master," he said. And the bed dipped with his weight as he settled between Master's legs, his hands on Master's shirt, his mouth to Master’s.

Raizel lifted his hands to help Frankenstein remove his shirt. He didn't want to hurry Frankenstein... but perhaps he did. He had waited patiently while Frankenstein slept, after all. Even if that was not as great a span of time as all that, Frankenstein did odd things to the passage of time.

"Thank you for waiting," Frankenstein whispered adoringly, his forehead to Raizel's neck, and Master's shirt was off and he couldn't wait a moment longer to finally undo Raizel's pants as well. He had Master in his hand then, as he reached for the oil. "Let me treat you, Master, for being so patient," and Frankenstein wet both his hands and bent down to invite Master past his lips, his fingers simultaneously working at that flesh.

Raizel let out a sigh, luxuriating in the feeling of Frankenstein's mouth. No one could possibly be more skilled: Frankenstein was brilliant at everything he did. Did Frankenstein intend to take him? He had the first time they slept together, Frankenstein's hands exploring every inch of his body, but the time they made their contract eclipsed that time. Unfairly so: it was also a precious memory to Raizel, the time when Raizel invited Frankenstein to have the body he'd longed for and caressed and Frankenstein had taken until he was satisfied. He only remained satisfied for a day, but that was Frankenstein.

For how could he stay satisfied when Raizel was Raizel —was Master?  A pleased sound around Master and with his free hand, Frankenstein reached for himself, pressing his fingers in, even though Master had loosened him only moments ago. Enhanced regeneration was invaluable to his survival, but in matters like these... No, he couldn't complain, not when it allowed him to take and be taken over and over again. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy being prodded and rubbed and stretched.

Raizel hesitated only a moment before deciding that yes, he would be greedy. "Frankenstein," he said, to get his human's attention, feeling jealous of the fingers that made Frankenstein's throat pulse around him.

_ Master _ he thought and felt a bit guilty when instead of looking up and heeding Master's call, Frankenstein closed his eyes, drew Master deeper down his throat.  _ Yes, Master? _

"Take me," Raizel ordered, lifting a leg to curl it around Frankenstein's back.

Frankenstein lifted his head, watched the trail of saliva and precome glisten between his lips and Master. He had wanted to drink Master down, but Master had ordered so earnestly, he couldn't ignore it, not that he would ever ignore Raizel. "If that is what pleases you," and he wanted to please. So he lowered his head lower this time, pressed his lips to in between Master's thighs, pressed his tongue into Master.

Raizel arched his back, amazed once again by Frankenstein's audacity. He knew from biology class that that place was often dirty in humans, but without a trace of hesitation...! For a moment he worried that Frankenstein wasn't taking enough care of himself and his need for things to be clean, but that delving tongue erased the thought from his mind and he let out a low moan. 

Master could never be dirty; even when he was, he wasn't. And Frankenstein sometimes didn't mind being dirty, especially like this. Oh, he could be  _ very _ dirty if he wanted to. So he tasted Master deeper, always sweet, always lovely. A pressing moan as his fingers stirred himself. He had been ordered to take, and yes, he would take all that he could, take him  _ inside _ . And he hoped Master wouldn't mind too much as he rose, parting Raizel's legs to settle on top of him, settle down on him and around him as he used a hand to draw Master's cock into himself.

Frankenstein couldn't help being naughty: it was his nature to disobey, to dare, to _ shine  _ brightest of all. Raizel knew that when he made the contract, so he couldn't object when Frankenstein took him in. Not when it was so hot, so tight, so unutterably perfect. And Frankenstein had dared his displeasure to give himself to Raizel like this, Frankenstein in his limitless generosity. So Raizel could sigh as Frankenstein's heat sank down onto him, but he couldn't complain.

Frankenstein closed his eyes, breathed out, savored the feel of Master in him, and he knew he was blushing, but the corner of his lips turned up anyway. His hands over Master's chest, his breath on Master's neck as he nipped and kissed and bit. "Master," he whispered in between lips and skin. "You feel so good" — no,  _ better _ — "so perfect, so filling. How do I feel, Master? Do I please you?"

"Yes," how could he not? Raizel reached up to hold Frankenstein to him, those lips to his neck. Petting that so-clever head, he reassured him that, "You please me, Frankenstein, despite your naughty ways." That still wasn't a complaint — he was a little overwhelmed, in fact, with how Frankenstein was devouring him. Had the punishment made him hungry for Raizel? Not that Raizel could do it again unless it was necessary, as much as he was enjoying the results.

Was he that naughty? Perhaps, but Master still had him completely. And Frankenstein loved it just so; it wasn’t as if he didn’t  _ try _ to be at least somewhat obedient and perhaps even docile. He called him Master, after all.

A pleased rumble in his throat; Raizel, his dearest Raizel, and he was always so appreciative. Of every little thing Frankenstein did, and Frankenstein was only driven to please him more and always. He kissed up Master's jaw to his ear, and "I hope you'll forgive the language,” he said. “But please fuck the come out of me, Master, and fill me with yours. I want to be full with nothing but your pleasure."

Raizel looked up at him — at Frankenstein, his Frankenstein. The words that had just passed his lips were  _ naughty _ , exceedingly so — they had to be, because they made Raizel shudder a little, and he contemplated that reaction for a moment. So long suppressing every emotion, but Frankenstein drew so many reactions from him. Hungry kisses and Raizel felt something that had to be hunger as he opened the bond between them, wanting,  _ demanding _ the touch of Frankenstein's soul to match the body around him.

A soft sound, almost of submission, as Frankenstein hastily took Master's lips with his own, pressed their bodies, pressed their souls together, and even though Master was not moving inside him yet, soul and breath and body made him shiver.

Impossible Frankenstein, impossibly _ perfect  _ as Raizel gently took Frankenstein's tongue between his teeth, circling his hips just gently, wanting Frankenstein's reaction to that before he thrusted. It was a small thing, but Frankenstein deserved all the things, great and small, and Raizel wondered if he should reverse their positions, pin Frankenstein down to the bed and fill him with powerful thrusts the way he wanted, but oh, if they stayed like this Frankenstein might rear up, let Raizel watch that lithe but powerful chest, watch every change in his expression. But pinned down Raizel could fill his mouth as well, devour him with kisses. What to do, he wondered, as he gave Frankenstein a little thrust up, the first of many.

He parted from the kiss, rising just slightly, because he still did not want to not be touching Master everywhere. His eyes half closed and he let out a breath, trying to make room in his lungs for more air; Master always made him breathless. He tilted his head back, hair spilling over his shoulders, a gasp as he grinded down against Master. These small movements and he only wanted "More."

Raizel reached up to pet that hair. Beautiful, Frankenstein was always beautiful. Or perhaps the word was bewitching: Raizel almost wanted to stop, just to watch him in pleasure, in the grip of want. To torment his dear Frankenstein, but Frankenstein's punishment was over. Raizel was free to give and give him everything, so he gave him the thrust Frankenstein wanted. Still gentle, still not as much power behind it as Frankenstein might want, but more for the soul that felt simply ravenous, and Raizel could not understand why Frankenstein would want  _ him _ so, but he would give it to him. He could not deny that bright soul anything that might give it the strength and desire to hold out against what tried to tear it down, to crush those beautiful dreams.

Beautiful, that was what Master thought of him. Beautiful and that was what he thought of Master. Frankenstein twitched, an "Mm!" leaving him, and Master was giving him, was feeding him, but even if his soul, entwined and encircling Master's glowed with the fullness of love, he was craving more, more movement, more body, more heat. His hips rocked a bit faster, driving Master in a bit deeper. "Master..."  he huffed, rising up fully to gaze down and to better move against Raizel. "Please yourself with me, Master," and in doing so, he would please Frankenstein, as he always did. "Hold me, use me up," as Raizel had denied himself that during Frankenstein's 'punishment.'

Raizel raised his hands to hold Frankenstein's hips, feeling them as they moved on him, as the two of them began to move together so easily, so naturally. He let out a soft hmm as he looked up and down Frankenstein, admiring him, and with a twitch of his hands guided him to go faster, to press down and let Raizel fill him the way Frankenstein had asked as Raizel lifted his hips, feeling them arch and flex and ache to be buried deep within his Bonded. To have Frankenstein as he held him.

Frankenstein was moaning, sounds falling from his tongue, and he loved how Master loved to hear him. And Master was so deep, bodies so hot, so close, and everything so perfect. Too perfect, because he could never get enough. How could he ever be satisfied? Indeed, Frankenstein was a greedy man. He called to Master in appreciative echos among gasps and whimpers.

Those sounds drew another little hmm from Raizel, and another soft sound as he stroked the curve of Frankenstein's hip, thrusting up into him with care. His bonded was so open like this, utterly abandoned, and it made him seem fragile, vulnerable even though the force of his thrusts proved his strength had not abandoned him. He wanted, cried out, and Raizel reached through the link to reassure Frankenstein that he was here, that he would take Frankenstein, that he would grant Frankenstein's wish to come on his cock, to be filled up and never empty again.

In these long moments, as the thrusts drove all other thoughts from his mind he wished to be with Frankenstein eternally, so Frankenstein would never be wanting... no, so Frankenstein was free to want love, want to be taken, because his wishes would be granted. His Master would be there to take him, and Frankenstein would never be left without anyone to give himself to.

Frankenstein was panting, was loving, but even so, he managed a hurried "Thank you, Master." Hurried, because surely, he would not be able to keep his words coherent for long.

Not when Master knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted, how much he wanted. They took and gave each other and so completely, so safely.

Raizel's soul snuggled into the bond, gorging himself greedily on Frankenstein's pleasure, letting his Bonded have the pleasure of sharing it with him. He was here, he proved for Frankenstein's sake. They were together, it was safe and good to let go, to abandon that last shred of control for pleasure.

For pleasure was all that Frankenstein could feel as Master struck him so, so lovingly inside. And he was right to have hurried his words, because as they moved, as he trembled, Frankenstein's voice was lost to such sweet sensation. His mouth open, spilling moans and stuttering calls, eyes closed, brows drawn together. It was all too lovely. He was wet, dripping on and smearing Master with the thrusts, and oh, he was dirty.

"Come for me, Frankenstein," Raizel murmured, because as greedy as it was of him, he really couldn't wait to feel his dear one lost to pleasure. He wanted to see it, to feel the clenching around him, and only then would he let go.

"Master... Master!" And Frankenstein was a bit hesitant to obey, when he had wanted to feel Master come inside him first, but no, how could he refuse a command like that? He always came when Master wanted him to, and this time would be no different, even when he felt a bit embarrassed at the thought of coming all over Master. And it was that thought that made him do just so, shaking, his hips twitching to have Master further inside as he dirtied Master's chest and stomach.

Raizel let go almost in the same moment, swept under by the tide of Frankenstein's pleasure. Eyes closed, he let himself savor the aftershocks, taking care to thrust up inside Frankenstein gently to prolong his Bonded's pleasure. That reminded him, "We are not done: I told you to take me, Frankenstein." But for now he could wait to have more than his Bonded's tongue inside him, at least long enough for Frankenstein to regain himself. He did his best to be a kind Master. 

A kind master he was, kind and relentless, and Frankenstein craved him just so — so, so much. An appreciative hum as he felt come mark him, stain him, on the inside, hot and silky and slick. "Yes...yes, Master," when he found his words again. "As you wish." Frankenstein was glad it would not take him long to get hard again, especially not with Master looking as he did, face pink, lips parted, and so very messy with Frankenstein's own pleasure. He smiled, just a little dazed.

Raizel nodded: that was good, Frankenstein was almost always good, even when he was naughty. Sometimes especially when, but Raizel wouldn't tell him that. Just thinking of how Frankenstein would be if Raizel encouraged it made him sigh and pull out of Frankenstein so that he could pull his Bonded down on top of him, feeling the wetness between their bodies. Frankenstein's smile was so adorable Raizel had to kiss him on the cheek. So cute. How had he ended up with such a cute bonded, even the Lords could not deserve one as wonderful as his Franken, he thought, feeling light and fluffy in the afterglow.

Frankenstein adored the gentle kisses, the small pecks, they were small gifts that meant the world to him, to them both. He allowed himself a moment to sigh, to breathe, before nuzzling Master's cheek, Master's neck, biting him gently there. And normally, such wetness, such contact between bodies would deter him, but with Master, it was a delight. A delight to be and feel dirty. Feel the warm come between them, feel it start to slide out of him, dripping down his thighs. "How would you like me to take you, Master?" for there were many delights when it was with Raizel. Toys and hands and tongue; slowly and gently, desperate and hungry. It was all such fun.

Raizel arched his neck for Frankenstein's bite, wondering if he might ask Frankenstein to take his very soul, but his body first. Taking his soul worried Frankenstein because of how wounded it was, he would rather be sure that Frankenstein was distracted with pleasure before sharing that pleasure with Raizel, the intensification of their bond. "I want to finish on your cock, Frankenstein," he said, trying not to blush. "In all other things, follow your own will." This was a reward for being... for mostly being good about his punishment, and at least compensation for not being able to please Raizel during it. 

How much Frankenstein appreciated Master, all that Master did, was impossible to measure, and he appreciated it so very much when Raizel tried so hard for him, with his soul, his body, his words. And so, Frankenstein could only put his everything into pleasing Master even as he was hesitantly extending his own fangs into Master's skin. Feel that soul rush him, warm blood down his throat.  _ Yes, Master, _ he said in his mind.  _ Yes, of course, and everything, _ they said in their souls.

Frankenstein lifted himself enough to reach a hand down between their bodies, to wrap his fingers around both of them, to begin to press and stroke, just gently.

Raizel hummed softly and pushed up into that hand, just gently, feeling himself slide against Frankenstein, both of them wet with the pleasure they had already experienced.  The feeling between their souls was warm, sharing the pleasure of being together like this, the pleasure they found in each other. It made him blush, the reminder of how much he was to Frankenstein, how much better he made him feel, just by being there, just by being him... It made him want to cover his cheeks, but even his embarrassment would please Frankenstein, the knowledge that Raizel found him so wonderful that Raizel couldn't possibly deserve him. 

Frankenstein sighed as he parted from Master's neck. He felt the same, the same wonder, the same undeserving. Which of them was right, it hardly mattered when they were just so joyous to be with each other. Hardly mattered when they were both breathing hard from pleasure, from want. Frankenstein swallowed, shifted lower, to in between Master's legs, bent down to have Master in his mouth again, sliding in a slick finger, and it occurred to him that they had switched positions, though this was far from punishment.  _ Him _ , punish  _ Master _ ? Impossible, when Master could do no wrong.

For Frankenstein to think he had done no wrong when he had killed fellow nobles, even sentenced his own brother... it was madness, but what was their union but utter impossibility, something so good, too good, something that ignored all the rest of how the world and Raizel's life worked? Frankenstein ignored fate, heaven and earth and if Raizel was not the reward he deserved, he was still the reward he desired and not even nature itself could deny Frankenstein, he thought, opening his legs for his bonded, for his lover.

Oh, how cute, how sweet, how sacred was the gift of Raizel. His lover and he was — they were, for they loved with all of their beings, loved so fully, so dangerously. Frankenstein moaned around Raizel, a futile attempt to express all his adoration, but he had to respond, to echo, when Master thought of him as so much.

Raizel shuddered and let out a moan himself at that, letting his hands go to gently grip Frankenstein's head, clutching at it not to force it down but to steady himself amidst the onslaught. Blood was not being taken, so the bond would calm but oh, his blood couldn't calm with Frankenstein's mouth on him, not like this.

Frankenstein had always been one to desire, to seize, what was impossible, and he reached beyond himself, pulled himself up to be equal, to be better, but Raizel was different. He was ideal, and Frankenstein could not be better than him, but he had him anyway, in more ways than one.

Frankenstein took his mouth off of Master, though his fingers slipped in and savored Master on the inside. He rested his head against Raizel's thigh, taking a moment to watch that wet cock twitch with his movements, watch it spill just a bit more slick even as he didn't care to have it so lonely and not inside of him. It was still beautiful: Master was utterly beautiful, all the more for how he  _ wanted _ Frankenstein. Frankenstein could never ask it of him, but he knew that Master would beg for his touch, if Frankenstein asked him not to order him. Would do it so sweetly, longing for him more than anything, aching for his touch in his very soul. 

But perhaps that was for another night, or morning, or afternoon. For now, he would give Master all that he could, so he rose up, moved his hands to Master's knees and pushed them towards Raizel's chest. He pressed in. "Master," he gently called, almost a velvet tune.

Raizel moved as Frankenstein bade him, making space for Frankenstein to fill him up, the way he'd longed for since... since always. "Frankenstein," he said, because there were no words, no sound more perfect than Frankenstein's name. "Frankenstein."  _ Please _ echoed along the bond, and Frankenstein could feel Raizel's legs tremble with desire, held up only by Frankenstein's hands pushing them into place.

_ Please  _ Frankenstein sent back, because please, how could he possibly hang onto composure, hang onto himself when Master was like Master? He was merciless in his love and adoration. Frankenstein leaned down to devour Master's lips, Master's mouth,  _ Master _ . Andhe was thrusting longer now, faster now. Earnest and eager, he was meant to please.

So good, his Frankenstein, who gave him all the pleasures he had; he never could have felt them before, not like this. How could Raizel ever go back to his life with only a window after feeling Frankenstein's glory? He gasped as Frankenstein found that spot within him only Frankenstein knew, the body he had taught pleasure feeling it again at his touch. A strange puzzlement filled him: how... how could his Bonded be so wonderful? How could someone so wonderful exist, let alone be his? He knew now why Frankenstein cried, the night their souls entwined, and though tears were something he could not afford, he wished to give them for Frankenstein, give him everything.

"Master," he whispered, he worshipped, oh, his "Master..." Frankenstein never wished for Master to cry, but those tears were for him, and he could not deny Master his want to give, could not deny him anything. Frankenstein already had everything, for his everything was Master. He kissed Master's cheek, buried himself deeper into what soft flesh. "You..." a huff, a shudder. "Your tears are breathtaking," because Frankenstein would give up his very breath to dry them. But if Master wanted to cry, he was always free to do so in front of Frankenstein, only in front of Frankenstein.

"Frankenstein," Raizel said, in helplessness and in explanation. "Frankenstein..." So much, almost too much; Raizel felt like that human who flew too close to the sun, except he still craved closer, deeper, and to burn alive in Frankenstein's soul was a consummation devoutly to be wished.

Soul to sun, but it was Master who shone brightest of all, the glow of his damp red eyes so beautiful, but only able to shine just a fraction of how much his heart, how much  _ he _ did. "Master," was his answer, was his explanation. " _ Raizel, _ " was his confession.

"Frankenstein," Raizel said, and smiled for him. These tears: how long had it been since he cried? Frankenstein was a fount of miracles, made amazing things happen every day. The wonderful place, a school. The friends he had here, the family they shared. The bliss between them, he thought, shuddering at it as he reached his arms up to wrap them around his bonded, his beloved, and tug him to enter him, all the way to his soul.

Frankenstein could only surrender to Raizel's want, and he was insistent, was relentless in his moving, his loving, breathing ragged breaths as he thrusted so fully into Master. "Mas — Raizel," he called, closing his eyes, trying to hang on, to last a bit longer.

It made Raizel let out a sigh, the fact that Frankenstein called his name in order to hang on to control longer. It really meant that much to him to call Raizel Master... touching and strange, wondrous strange. "Franken," he said instead, the nickname he never used around the children or others because Frankenstein deserved to be addressed with respect, not by a diminutive like one used for a child or a pet.

"Ah." Frankenstein looked up to Master. "Ah..." And he felt small and held and loved. He had to slow down, at least for a moment. "Master," he said, his voice soft and worn. "If...if you do that, I'll come too soon," because Master's pleasure before his, always even as Frankenstein felt it in his knees, felt it tremble up his thighs.

Franken liked his nickname that much? Raizel wanted to give him pleasure, to help him come, but not if Frankenstein asked him not to. Instead, he clenched around him, just a little, and shifted his hips, feeling a quiver in Frankenstein's thighs that hopefully meant he liked it.

He loved it. Loved how it made him gasp, how it made his lashes flutter. Loved how Master loved to please him, and they were so alike in their desires, their motivations, Frankenstein sometimes found himself in awe and in sorrow, because he knew himself, and he knew he was a sufferer. But together, oh together, they were both captured by pleasure, and it was suffering, then, to be apart.

Raizel moved his hips as best he could, pressed forward by Frankenstein's comforting weight. He could have stayed like this forever appreciating Frankenstein and in  _ his _ appreciation... but that would have meant missing school, all the wonderful things in this place Frankenstein had prepared for him. He had been stunned by the gazebo: to hear that this school was for his sake!

"Master, for you, everything." Frankenstein groaned as he connected his lips to Master's neck again, kissing and licking and loving until he gasped, a cry leaving him as he pressed their bodies close, his shoulders and legs and thighs shaking. He had climaxed, breathless in the grasp of sensation, but still he was hard, still inside Master. Frankenstein had not come, and, remarkably, he still had the sense to be glad for it. He moaned, resuming his movements, hoping to please Master beyond pleasure soon because he would not be able to hold off a second time.

So many kisses and caresses: Raizel was pleasantly overwhelmed, unable to respond to one before the next demanded his attention, because he wanted to be sure to properly appreciate everything Frankenstein did. Then his bonded _ twitched _ inside of him, but Raizel felt no fuller than before. He could still come with Frankenstein hard inside him, still clench around him and make him feel good. It was such a relief that he silenced one of Frankenstein's moans with his mouth, kissing him demandingly instead of properly savoring the sound. Frankenstein was so much, almost too much at times, but it just made Raizel feel even fonder.

Frankenstein kissed back, tasting, having, devouring as if kisses gave him his very life, and sometimes, they felt like they did, when they were from Master, when they were expressions of Master's fondness for him. He reached a hand down between them, gripped Raizel, stroked him with a rhythm even when Frankenstein's hips struggled to find one again. And he kissed and he kissed, not caring that the air was growing thin.

It Raizel wonder if he knew what _ hunger _ was, the aching need humans felt for something that their very bones knew they had to have it or their entire lives would cease to be. Without Frankenstein he would be nothing but the Noblesse: was Frankenstein not the element that made his life a life? Did Raizel not feel a tightness in his chest, a sensation that made him try to lunge up so Frankenstein couldn't pull back from their kisses, couldn't leave his side even for a moment? 

And that was what Frankenstein longed for most of all, for Raizel to  _ have _ him and oh, Raizel would, he would take Frankenstein as Frankenstein sweetly begged when it was time for his Bonded to sleep again, and then if he still lived he would come to Frankenstein's side the next day, and the next, a fragile eternity of kisses and all good things. The heaven Frankenstein had woven for him out of nothing with miraculous arts.

Frankenstein swallowed down kisses, swallowed down moans in the pursuit of even more, as his hand moved over Master, as he moved in him. And he thought of how wonderful everything was. Perhaps Raizel thought Frankenstein had created a heaven, but oh, if only, because he could still not guarantee Master life. But still, he tried, and he tried in all their waking moments to fill what life Raizel did have with wonderful things, and he was selfish, greedy, in doing so, because it made Frankenstein so immensely happy. He called to Master, called to the one who had allowed him to create such a place that could be considered a haven, because before "Master, oh Master" he had had no home.

Held in Frankenstein's strong hand, Raizel felt like it was alright to not be the Noblesse, to not be the strongest being in the world. To be at Frankenstein's mercy, to answer the one who called out to him and let go, surrender to the pleasure, the warmth of his soul, the heat of their bodies together. "Fran...ken," he called, and came.

And it was always marvelous, a marvel, miraculous, because even though Frankenstein was a man of science, he found it a miracle that he was always welcome to witness such a thing. Because when Master came, it was a moment of surrender, wrung and ringing with pleasure and good things. Good things that  _ Frankenstein _ was able to give him. As Master arched so beautifully, called to him so seductively, spilling himself over Frankenstein's hand, Frankenstein too came, shaken with both of their pleasure. And while Master constricted around him so, still twitching on the inside, Frankenstein filled him fully.

His Master clung to him afterwards, arms weak with pleasure, so easy to push aside if he was mad enough to want to when Raizel looked at him with drowsy eyes as though he was, was... was everything, the same as Master was to him.

He kissed Master's forehead, then sighed into Master's hair. Frankenstein smiled. They had done this so many times, and when Frankenstein had enhanced himself, he was not expecting that his abilities would be put to such use in these sorts of matters, but he had to appreciate how much their bodies could allow them to have each other, so much. He carefully withdrew. "You've made such a mess of me, Master," he whispered appreciatively, just a glint of teasing in his eyes. “In every way,” he added.

Raizel blushed, feeling sorry. Even he was very careful to not get Frankenstein and his things messy, especially when it bothered Frankenstein if Frankenstein caught him cleaning up. Then he remembered that Frankenstein didn't mind so much, if it was like this, and sighed with relief, reaching up to stroke that familiar hair.

Frankenstein held back a chuckle, choosing to breathe and lean into Master's touch instead. "And I've made such a mess of you." But instead of wishing for death, Frankenstein's features softened and he glowed on the inside with such gratitude.

"I do not mind, Frankenstein," Raizel said, shaking his head, so he could be certain that Frankenstein knew. 

That Raizel would allow such fluids on him and in him, allow his clothes to be stripped from his body, his body to be taken, it was all so precious. Frankenstein turned to the side off of Master. He laid down to face him, wrap an arm around him, placing a hand on the curve of Master's hip, and he settled like this for a moment, even though really, he should be getting them cleaned and ready for the morning. Just a moment more, and "Shall I prepare the morning tea, Master?" he asked again.

Raizel nuzzled at his cheek, restraining a sigh. Frankenstein was always so busy. At least with tea he would sit and savor things for a bit, even if he wasn't content to just lie here with Raizel. He wrapped an arm around Frankenstein and tugged him closer to breathe in the air at the base of his neck, laden with the scent of him, for just a moment before releasing him. "Tea." Then they would sit together, in the morning calm before Raizel needed to pick out his shirt and the kids came, and be content with just each other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, qdeanna is Raizel and I'm Frankenstein.

Frankenstein kissed Raizel's hand, kneeling before him. Covering every inch with kisses—the fingertips, and the pads of the fingers, the inside of the knuckles, one by one, and then turning the hand over to do the outside, slow and almost meditative, but meticulous as ever.

Gentle presses of his lips, feeling his Master inch by inch, memorizing his body.

Because it was love, but in the back of his mind, there was also a strange sort of fear and Raizel could sense it, was allowed to sense it, for Frankenstein always hid his feelings well. Strange, but not unfamiliar, because they knew the fear of loss.

These hands, these precious hands that touched him with such care: one day he might never be able to feel them again. So he worshipped them, memorized them with his lips and fingertips, and pressed those precious fingers to his cheek, leaning into them.

And Raizel too wished to burn, to emblazon Frankenstein into his own body, his own soul, stain and scar his memories with him. Raizel's fingers dipped into Frankenstein's hair, gently scratched his scalp, a thumb brushing Frankenstein's cheek.

But they had promised, had they not? To save each other, to be together, past forever.

Frankenstein hummed softly and his eyes slid half-shut, displaying his elegant eyelashes. A work of art, was Frankenstein, born of artifice, of effort, but that made it truer than a noble's effortless perfection. This beauty was a reflection of Frankenstein's mind, inner as well as outer. Languidly he accepted Raizel's touches, savoring them. Always appreciating everything he did, just as Raizel appreciated him.

It was with a ritual practice when they touched both physically and not. Catharsis, sacrament, an intimacy not between a god and a believer, though they both were filled with a certain kind of worship, but between two lovers, two saviors. "Frankenstein," Raizel whispered as he leaned to kiss his cheek, then his lips. "What do you will of me?" Because it was Frankenstein's will that was so precious, so grand.

'Let me worship you,' Frankenstein almost said, but no, he wouldn't force his Master to a passive role. He wanted him to do, to experience all the pleasures this wide world had to offer. So, "Take me," he whispered instead, for only Master to hear out of all this wide world. The only one he would kneel before like this, the one he loved to belong to and with.

He wanted to bare himself to his Master, he wanted to offer himself to Master and find that he was wanted. For his Master to be ravenous for him.

It wasn't so much for the sake of reminding when Frankenstein asked this of Raizel. Raizel always made sure Frankenstein knew he was wanted; he knew he knew. It was more like...carving, like scratching and biting himself into Frankenstein, because Frankenstein always wanted closer, wanted more, and it made them both feel alive. So alive, even if death seemed to always whisper behind the bend of a road or a door.

So, Raizel swiftly shoved Frankenstein back, pressed him down into the bed, tugged a bit at his hair, nipped a bit at his neck.  _ As you wish _ . He reached for Frankenstein's wrists, took one in each hand and pinned them above Frankenstein's head, his fingers firm.

Frankenstein let out a low moan, intoxicated by his forceful Master. His legs slid open and he flexed his arms, feeling how he was held down. Relishing it.

Raizel sighed fondly and breathed in the scent of Frankenstein's hair before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Though this wasn't exactly Raizel's...style, even in battle, he knew how it felt to be held, and by now he knew Frankenstein's tastes. Or so he hoped he did as he sought those eager lips, pressed himself down onto his Bonded, lightly grinded against him as he devoured every bit of Frankenstein's mouth.

Frankenstein opened his mouth, delighted by his generous Master who knew just what he wanted and bothered to give it to him. Frankenstein moaned into the kiss, pushed up into his Master's hips and wriggled with joy, feeling sweet elemental passion. Held and wanted and loved, loved so very much, and he loved his Master so.

When they parted, breathing deeply, Raizel knew he was blushing. Even so, he managed a semblance of command in his voice: "Keep your hands where they are, Frankenstein." He would not bind them this time, for was Frankenstein's will not great? And he lowered himself to unbutton Frankenstein's shirt, bent down to lavish his neck and chest, to bite and tease those cute buds on his pecs.

Hands clenching into fists, Frankenstein obeyed. Having his hands restrained by his Master's order made him think of all the things he wished he could do with his hands. Touch his Master's head, feel his silken black hair, hold that head in place to tease his flesh further until he begged for it, for more of Master's blessings, more of that savory love.

Raizel slid his hand down and coyly stroked at Frankenstein, still concealed by black fabric, but Raizel could feel the honest firmness there, nonetheless.

Of course he was already hard when Master gave him such passionate kisses and caresses. He pressed up into that hand, hips flexing and his nails dug into his palms with the effort of not joining Master's hand with his, pressing Master down onto him, putting force behind that stroking. "Master," he almost whimpered, already breathless.

Raizel allowed himself a small smile, a gentle look. Frankenstein was so sweet for him: boneless, breathless, beautiful. He traced Frankenstein through the fabric, pressed just a bit firmer, slid his fingers along the length. His other hand traced the ridges of Frankenstein's ribs. Raizel bit down carefully, slowly on Frankenstein's chest. He closed his eyes, feeling the thrum of Frankenstein in him as he slid his fingers into his pants. "You're already wet," he said softly, only a bit embarrassed.

"Master..." Oh, Master, spoiling him so sweetly, drawing him down to surrender, filling him with so much love he wanted to die, wanted Master to hold his head underwater and he would smile as his lungs filled, to do what Master wanted. He would die for him gladly. "I want you so," he said, his thighs trembling with desire.

A pang of concern crossed his mind, but Raizel could not let it distract him from the moment, even if the thought of Frankenstein dying always troubled him and his willingness to do so only mirrored Raizel's own. Frankenstein was enjoying himself, and so, Raizel shifted to pull off Frankenstein's pants and set them aside. He bent down, kissed a trembling thigh, sank his fangs down there as well even as Raizel's gaze was assessing, eyes roaming Frankenstein's exposed body.

_ All for me. _

He shuddered as the momentary sting of the bite mixed with the bliss of having his blood taken, feeling his soul mingle further with his Master's. His eyes closed as he whimpered softly, captivated and longing to stay like this forever, wrapped up in his Master's warmth and love and giving Master all the love he could in hopes that it would warm him. If he could make Master feel even a tenth as happy as he felt, oh, it would be worth everything.

Raizel thought for a moment, nails digging into Frankenstein's legs, about how he would go about taking Frankenstein. Perhaps Frankenstein would like... He lowered himself, kissing from the tip of Frankenstein's erection down his length, lower still and Raizel's tongue circled Frankenstein's entrance. He thought of a few days ago, when Frankenstein had done the same, and he pressed in. It was strange, he thought, that he had yet to have tasted Frankenstein here until now after all they had done.

He knew Master’s tongue well, that strong wet heat. He could feel his breath around his entrance and on his balls, so close to his cock, but he couldn’t regret it when he always loved having his Master  _ inside _ . He shuddered with lust, craving when Master would take him. The tongue patiently opening him was a promise that Master would, would grant all his deepest desires.

Frankenstein’s body was honest, from his breath to his shivers. Raizel remembered when he had first turned from his window to gaze at the man daring enough to just take his shirt. His emotions, intentions were hidden. Raizel could only sense what on the surface was hostility, directed towards...everyone, towards Frankenstein as well. But then, but now, he was allowed to see all that could be seen, dive into Frankenstein’s depths and Frankenstein always desired so much, so much, Raizel did not know if he had enough to give, but he would try his best, always.

Now Frankenstein’s emotions and intentions were his for the reading. That shielded soul was open to him, utterly. So much trust, even desire to be trespassed upon, because Raizel was a precious existence to him. Together,  _ together _ . He had taken in Frankenstein, and Frankenstein longed to take Raizel inside in turn. Not in return, because Frankenstein knew that Raizel had not done it in hope of repayment. Just because that was the kind of person Raizel was, and to Frankenstein, that was more than enough. It worried Raizel, that the least Frankenstein deserved was enough to make him willing to open so much, almost too much. Perhaps Frankenstein should take better care of his heart than to give it to two weapons who would break it, Dark Spear with their whispers and Raizel with his inevitable death, but Frankenstein was always generous, always kind, always more than anyone could deserve and all Raizel could do was be honored, all he could do was give Frankenstein what little that brave soul asked of him.

Raizel breathed out, tongue twisting, fingers pressing, soul—souls singing.  _ You ask too little of me, Frankenstein. And too much of yourself _ . So it was Raizel’s duty, then, to just give as much as he could and hope that Frankenstein liked what he received. His hand slid up Frankenstein’s thigh; his fingers took hold of the waiting, wet  flesh there. Gently, he rubbed, he stroked, both inside and out.

_ You give me everything, Master _ . Everything he desired, except the one thing he would not ask for. Ask Raizel to seal his power, as Raizel had bade Frankenstein seal his? Ask Raizel to stand by and do nothing while innocent people, while the ones he saw as family were in danger? He couldn’t ask that of Master, just as Master couldn’t truly ask that of him, as much as he hated to see Frankenstein in danger when it was Raizel’s duty to deal with their enemies. So as much as they longed for the other to live, to be safe, they wouldn’t ask them not to be themselves. So Frankenstein would ask for Master to touch him, to love him, something that meant so much, that had him trembling as he tried to hold still, to restrain himself from thrusting onto that tongue, into those hands, a joyous torment. Like this, he could forget everything but his love of his Master, and just be.

Raizel lifted his head, his lips glistening, and looked at Frankenstein, watched how he sighed and smiled up sweetly for him. He shifted forward, laid his head on Frankenstein’s chest, pressing their bodies close as he continued to stroke, to play. He pressed a kiss to his neck. “If only that were true. I am not…”  _ enough _ but Raizel did not wish to make Frankenstein sad and so kept the last word to himself. He nuzzled at Frankenstein’s warm neck, gripped him a bit firmer, paying more attention to where it pleased Frankenstein the most.

“You are everything,” Frankenstein said slowly, force behind every word. His hands flexed again, wanting to move, to embrace his Master and reassure him but he was held by the force of his Master’s command and his own desire to obey, to prove his respect for his Master. Instead he reached with his soul, pulling his Master down into a sea of warm devotion, because Frankenstein himself was drowning in the bliss of his kind Master’s  touch.

Everything? Hardly, but Raizel was not going to argue even if it saddened him, made him afraid of what would happen to  _ Frankenstein _ if Raizel were to die. Raizel moved for the usual jar of oil, which Frankenstein always made sure was never empty despite how often they were together like this. He spilled it on Frankenstein appropriately and got up. Frankenstein requested to be taken, and Raizel would, but for now, he pulled a toy from their private drawer, Frankenstein’s own making, of course. There was not anything that could be bought that his skilled Bonded could not make himself but better.

Instead of seeking his own pleasure, his generous Master wanted to give Frankenstein alone pleasure. His Master spoiled him so. But, perhaps it was a sign that Master had enjoyed that toy enough to want it again? That Frankenstein had done well in designing it, if Master liked it so? He hoped so, he thought, spreading his legs a little wider so it would be easy for Master to place it inside him. “You spoil me, Master,” he said, blushing slightly at the thought.

“It pleases me,” Raizel said simply. He settled between Frankenstein’s legs, used his fingers to stretch Frankenstein just enough before slicking the toy as well, and slowly, he pressed it in. This particular one, Raizel observed, was particularly pleasing in its texture. At least for Raizel; he hoped Frankenstein would like it as well as he turned it on.

“Ah!” Frankenstein moaned, rolling his hips around the toy, moving it inside of him, shifting so it pressed against him. Master liked to see him in pleasure, so it was alright to fuck himself on the toy, glancing up at Master to see that he was watching, wondering if he was enjoying the sight of a panting Frankenstein.

He did, he always did, always was grateful. Frankenstein was lovely, beautiful, made his chest flutter when he moved, when he gasped and shivered. Raizel could watch him and watch him some more, and he found himself preferring it to the windows. “Frankenstein,” he called low and seductive as he had learned to be as he stroked Frankenstein with the toy. “You’re always so eager.” Too eager, sometimes; it was dangerous. He pressed it in deeper.

“For you, Master,” how could he not be? He pressed up to meet his Master’s thrust, arching his back and neck for his Master to admire the lines of it and perhaps grace it with a bite. His cock was wet and heavy on his stomach: yes, his body was eager, always eager for his Master’s touch.

Raizel’s eyes were lidded; he found his own breath hastening. His own face, warm, as he did admire Frankenstein, a privilege to be up close and closer when he leaned down to Frankenstein’s offered neck. A swallow, a bite. His other hand brushed over the contours of Frankenstein’s chest, his stomach.

Oh how he wanted to pull Master to him, to have that warm body over him. To thrust up against him, to wrap a hand around both their cocks and stroke, shuddering under him from the pleasure of the toy Master had generously given him, until they both made a mess over Frankenstein’s body, the white marking him as Master’s.

Frankenstein had always been a thinker, a visionary. And what tempting visions they were. He could grant Frankenstein this, but perhaps not completely. Raizel straightened enough to part with his own clothing and they were pressed close again. He reached down to pleasure both of them, grinding against Frankenstein all the while. A soft sigh of “Frankenstein” left him.

With a groan Frankenstein thrusted up into Master’s soft hand, against that velvet-sheathed cock. Opening the link, he shared the pleasure Master was so generously giving him, even though he could never be worthy of Master’s kindness. He winced, knowing that the thought would distress his Master, but how could he help it when Master blessed him with such pleasure, such closeness?

“You are worth…” a breath-soft moan. “Are worth everything,” and as Raizel was, in the moment at least, everything to Frankenstein, then Frankenstein was worth him. And it was all too wonderful, too much like a dream, and they feared waking up. Raizel stole Frankenstein’s gaze, stole his breath, stole his lips. He had what he wasn’t meant to have.

“Master,” was all Frankenstein could say. “Master!” he cried out as Raizel stroked him, his voice muffled by his Master’s lips into an inarticulate, “Mmm!” There was nothing that could equal the experience of being covered by his Master, of his Master seizing the initiative, seizing his flesh to bring them both pleasure, and therefore nothing that could be traded for it, nothing else worthy of it. Blessed, he was blessed by his kind god, and  _ Master  _ he loved him so.

And  _ Frankenstein _ he loved him so. Raizel kissed him, devoured him, as if he were the only person worth anything and Raizel was hoarding all the glittering sunlight for himself with claws and teeth and fire and he allowed himself to not feel too guilty for it. He parted when his breath was thin only to press their lips together again as he slid the toy out of Frankenstein and replaced it with himself, receiving what was hot and heavenly. Raizel gripped Frankenstein’s wrists again, not because Frankenstein would disobey, but because he wanted to encompass him, shield him, keep him.

And oh, Frankenstein felt utterly possessed, filled and owned by the one he trusted to care for him. In his Master’s hands he could come undone, could moan and writhe and struggle, just a little, against the firm grip on his wrists. He could surrender his control and feel, breathe, be here, in this moment, with the one he loved so much it tore him open, left him bare for the taking. He felt that heat sliding deep inside him and clenched around it, moaned for it like he was the utterly depraved madman he pretended to be, because Master’s touch reduced him to a wanting, wanton thing and he  _ worshipped  _ it. There was no higher good, nothing greater he knew in his very soul. 

Raizel held him tighter, enough to leave bruises that would surely fade too soon according to Frankenstein’s tastes. He rocked, moved how Frankenstein liked it, decisive, daring. When Raizel played this role for his Bonded, he could almost pretend that everything was alright and that all Frankenstein had to concern himself with was the feeling of flesh against flesh. He could almost pretend that he wasn’t weak, wasn’t pathetic so as to let his fate claim him. No, Raizel brushed those thoughts away, groaned against Frankenstein’s ear, focused again on just “Frankenstein,” because with him—for him, he was alright; he was everything.

Hearing his name from his Master’s lips, Frankenstein moaned, captivated by the sound of Master’s voice, the rhythm of Master’s hips striking him deep inside. He was close to the edge, he wanted it, and he might have begged but he knew his generous Master would let him come, would take him over the edge into completion. Body and soul, both cleaved to his Master in ecstasy. 

Raizel’s nails dug into Frankenstein’s skin. He called to Frankenstein again, fangs extended in some strange fire of possession. He pressed their foreheads together, panting in the tantalizing space between them. Fangs did not have much use in battle, impractical at best; they were not meant to pierce armor or weapons or enemies. No, they sank into waiting skin, drew blood to draw bonds. It was only to Frankenstein that Raizel bared his fangs. Only for him.

Frankenstein pushed upwards, shoving their mouths together not heedless of the fangs but wanting them, wanting to be bound, to share in their communion of souls. He gasped for breath, tasting blood on his lips and as the renewed bond inflamed him he came, spurting come over his stomach, his cock pressed between bodies that pressed together, seeking deeper, closer,  _ one. _

Raizel licked at the blood on Frankenstein’s lips, curled his soul tighter, closed his eyes, savored the feeling of Frankenstein’s pleasures. He sighed at the sensation of trembling thighs and weak knees and a heaving, flushed chest, until he too came undone. And as he spilled himself and his composure, he let go of Frankenstein’s wrists to cup his face, to look at him so that Frankenstein saw what he could do to Raizel so simply, so easily, that Frankenstein’s pleasure was Raizel’s as well. As his body twitched, he breathed Frankenstein’s name, breathed for—for the sake of _ —“ _ Frankenstein.”

Frankenstein lifted his hands—they trembled just a little—to embrace him, pulling them together heedless of the mess smearing between them. All he cared about was Master, was Raizel, here and whole and loving. He kissed at Master’s face tenderly, still not quite come down, still feeling the pressure of Master’s grip on his wrists, a mark of his Master’s passion. Passion caused by his desire for Frankenstein, accursed, unlucky Frankenstein. And still his Master blessed him, came to his bed and loved him. And they loved; they loved to love; there was no greater pleasure, Frankenstein was convinced.

Raizel sighed into Frankenstein’s hair, kissed him tenderly on his lashes and his lips. He lifted his head and gently held Frankenstein’s hand in his own, rubbed at Frankenstein’s wrist, feeling a bit guilty. He kissed the marks he left there before they had the chance to fade and relaxed again on top of Frankenstein. Dear, dearest Frankenstein, “Do your wrists hurt?”

“No, Master,” and it was the truth for once, although Frankenstein could have missed a little pain in the haze of his Master’s desire for him. Just thinking about it warmed him, that and his Master’s tender kisses. Joy bubbled up inside him, joy and a little triumph, that his Master wanted him so much, had taken him so forcefully. He was an existence that Cadis Etrama di Raizel took pleasure in, and among all his accomplishments over a long life that was certainly one of the most… enjoyable. Yes, it gave him joy.

A pleased hum from Raizel. He was glad, more than glad that Frankenstein could find enjoyment in him, who was clumsy with his words and his ways. He stroked Frankenstein’s hair; it was almost second nature at this point to run his fingers through those curls and waves. The sea. Raizel always felt like he was at the seashore and he was beholding— _ holding _ —the sea. Sand between his toes, in his hair, in his lungs and he wanted to drown. Frankenstein, full of life and light and wonders and as deep as darkness. What was Raizel to offer to a person who was a world? But Frankenstein found joy in him anyway. And Raizel was glad. He was glad. And he sighed and paused and breathed just for a moment.

And after a moment, Raizel was dimly aware of the sunlight behind the window curtains. He glanced at the clock on the bedside drawer, oh. “I’m late for class.”

Frankenstein screamed internally before grabbing hold of Raizel. “Master, I deserve to die!” he cried out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place back in the flashback era, and since we went with an experimental style once again we'd really appreciate any comments you may have.

Caressing Raizel's chin, the beautiful arch of his throat... "Care to play a game, Master?" I asked, lowering my eyes and fluttering my eyelashes coyly.

You looked at me, considered me, as you often did. Such care you took and you trusted me enough to nod.

"Play pretend," I mused, daring to curl your hair around one of my fingers. "That I am the villain they name me, and you my helpless—but not unwilling—captive." I knew that if I truly was a villain, you would never give in, even if you did love me. I never wanted to see the light of condemnation in your eyes, even in a game. 

For I knew it would pain you to do so as you considered me for a bit longer, puzzled. "If you are a villain, why am I not unwilling?" you asked, for you were dutiful.

"A play villain. A monster perhaps, but in body instead of soul. Capricious and dangerous, but naughty instead of evil." I let the act fade a little as I was explained, glancing at you in hopes you understood. The word 'naughty' was too undignified for the act. "Wild and uninhibited. Pretend that I only do what I desire, and what I desire is to be with you." And oh how I longed to be with you, and hoped you could see that in my eyes, read it in our bond.

I saw your small smile. "I will not have to pretend much, then." You nodded once again. "You have captured me, Frankenstein." And when you looked up at me, I too was caught, and I thought I saw a playfulness in your eyes.

My heart overflowed. "Master," I said, voice full of devotion, and it took me a moment to remember the game as I reached out to touch you, and it was with amazement that I was allowed to profane something so holy instead of with triumph that such a treasure was mine. I swallowed, still caught by you.

"What will you do to me?" you prompted, demure and hardly in a way one might address a dangerous captor. Nonetheless, you were always honest in your efforts to please. Please me! And despite our pretend roles, you had no need to save yourself this time.

Cliché lines flashed through my mind, but what I truly wanted to do was gush over how perfect you were, how alluring in a way you would show only to me, because who else would dare to play a game like this with you? Sometimes, my own daring astounded even me, and it was with that prideful thought that I smirked and drew you close with a hand on your back. "Hmm, first, I'd like to examine such an intriguing find," I said, and undid the top button of your shirt.

Because yes, I had found a manor in the woods and a person in a room—found temptation under skin that you let me reveal time and time again.

The fabric of your shirt was thin and finely woven— only the most elegant for you—and I leaned in to mouth at your earlobe, catching it between my teeth but not biting down, simply making you aware that I had teeth, had fangs, had vulnerable flesh between them. It made me think of how it felt when you bit me and renewed our bond, and I wondered if you might long for something I did the way I longed for you to set your teeth to my throat and renew the mark of your possession. I might want to play at having the upper hand, but I hoped you knew in truth that I was yours, always and ever yours.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know,” as you turned your lips to my own ear, leaning against my own skin. Soft and softer, your voice, your presence, as if both of us could break with a breath. “But for now, let us play,” and you spoke like the mist of a fantasy. You had always been tempting, alluring, but when had you learned to be so seductive?

It struck me again, how open I was to you. How you could see through my deceptions, the armor of detachment and cruelty I wore to protect the innocent. I could hide nothing from you and it made me kiss your forehead, a benediction, a prayer of gratitude for how I could be naked before you and fear nothing. Shaking my head to clear it, I undid a second button of your shirt, hmming to myself, pleased with the peek at your flesh I could see through the gap. “Delectable.” You certainly were.

At that, you lowered your gaze. You blushed. And, for me, you were sweet and decadent.

A third button, and then I took your arm to lead you to the bedroom. The large open window in this room made me feel jealous, as though Urokai or someone might come through it to steal a glimpse of you, or dare to steal you away from me. It fit with the game, to take the captive back to my den of perversions, did it not?

But you hardly thought of me as perverted; how sweet you were to hold me in such regard, even though many others would think otherwise. But what others thought or whispered or cursed, you had never been one to listen to them about me. You saw me with your own eyes, and to you, I would reveal all, even my indulgences.

I led and you followed sweetly, trustingly, never thinking that now I was going to reveal my true colors, act like the villain others named me. “You intoxicate me,” I said aloud, thinking that it fit the game well enough, that line, but as I pressed you down onto the bed I knew it for truth.

“I do not mean to,” you said, as if your innocence would draw mercy from me. But as you looked at me with those eyes, that blush on your face, your skin warm underneath my touch, you hardly seemed so.

You seemed warm and alive. “No, don’t regret it,” I said, because I didn’t want you to stop. “You are perfect, my dear. I could just eat you up. Wrap you up and keep you all to myself.” Not sharing him with the clan leaders who came to complain of my presence. Not sharing him with anyone, holding him and his warmth close to my heart, the warmth that saved me, the kindness that did it at his own expense, and I buried my face in that neck, grabbing his wrists in my hands and pinning them over his head. “Hold them there,” I told him, and returned to opening his shirt, revealing the gift he had given me so graciously.

You were quiet, obedient, but I felt your leg brush against mine, felt the flickering of souls and fluttering of heartbeats. A soft sigh drew my eyes to your face and you were watching me with utter attention. Underneath me, you would allow me to tune and play you like a fine harp.

I bent my head to your marble chest and took a nipple into my mouth, sucking and laving at the pale pink as it reddened. I ran my hands down your sides, savoring the touch of your skin, feeling you as I tasted you, breathing in the scent of tea and warm cloth. I breathed on your nipple as I released it. “So sweet,” I said, smiling up at you.

Your hands pinned by a request alone, your head turned slightly to the side, and hair just a bit out of place, and you were open to me. Pink cheeks and parted lips, you breathed and I felt your chest rise. You, so powerful, crushing stone and souls with a thought, and here you were, mine, and all I had to do was lead you by the hand.

I couldn’t resist the invitation of those parted lips, invading your mouth with my tongue and pressing my chest to yours. Surely you could feel my heart pounding in my chest, how much it excited me just to be here with you. I loved how alive you made me feel, after so long alone. Your sweetness awakened my passion, and I loved you so.

A moan, though soft, I assured myself there would be more and treat myself to your sounds. Draw them out when you were always so silent, even in your movements.

I trailed a hand down your chest to where your legs joined, rubbing there inquisitively.

And you pressed up with the sigh I loved to hear. I looked down, and I must admit, I was surprised. Unyielding eyes and an imploring expression, you were staring at me with a challenge—a helpless maiden, you were not. You too, were playing. “Perhaps you would like to examine me properly?” you asked.

I smirked down at you, undoing the button and beginning to remove your pants. You lifted your hips to accommodate me sliding them down, and I watched as your legs were unveiled. Your legs and more. Striking a thoughtful pose, “Yes,” I said, “Now this is a proper examination,” and I reached for the jar of oil.

Oil on your pale skin, your thighs, your hips: a lascivious sight. And yet, your arms stretched above you, your body bared to me, and you still looked sacral, and if not for the game, this would be a sacred ritual. You pressed your legs together, crossing them at the ankles, your knees slightly bent. Perhaps it was a shy gesture, some small attempt to cover up, but it did not escape my notice how your thighs rubbed together, how the oil spread over your skin when they did so. I swallowed and oh, I wanted to make a mess of you, and you had permitted me to do so; for I was a villain, a dangerous, contemptuous villain—a devil.

Only a devil could be arrogant enough to think they deserved to touch you, to  _ have  _ you. Even the gods themselves were too shy, when it was plain to see they longed for you. Madness to think you might return the feelings of someone like me, even though you  _ did _ and there were no words for how it made me feel. Leaning over you, heedless of the oil and how it stained my pants I bit at your neck, overcome with hunger, and only a madman would have the daring to do what I did now, so one I must be. The alternative would be to stop, and that was impossible, unthinkable.

I grasped you in my unworthy hand and knew that I should say something, some taunting line, but though I had no trouble thinking of lines to enrage my enemies I was still struck speechless by the thought that I was allowed to have you, to touch you, even to play such undignified games with you. I tried to think of something, but all I could think about was the warm, slick weight in my hand, the proof of your desire for me.

“Do I tempt you so?” you said even as you shivered so cutely beneath me. “Are you such a carnal being, Frankenstein?”

Did you disapprove? But oh, in the game I was allowed to be lustful and shameless. “You inflame me so: I  _ must  _ have you.” I pressed against you, circling my hips. My pants felt too tight and I released you to undo the fastenings, kicking them off me with unseemly haste so I could fall on you again.

You smiled, just slightly so I could see. We looked at each other and though you were uncovered, to me, you were suddenly mysterious. Maybe it was the sensuous line from your neck to your toes or the way you looked at me with a calm control despite our positions. “Someone as fearsome as yourself, at the mercy of desire; you are indulgent, Frankenstein.” You leaned into my touch. “How will I indulge you?”

“So sweet,” I said, cupping your face in my hands and gratifying myself with a kiss. My enemies wouldn’t believe it, that I was with Raizel because Raizel was so, so very sweet, and I wanted to be with him more than anything. Not the fearsome scourge of the Union and the vampire plague. “Be mine,” I asked of you. In the game, of course; outside it, I was yours. I curled a hand around both of us and stroked our lengths, together.

A quick breath from you before your eyes turned to something distant. You were considering. When you focused on me once more, you were blushing, you were sweet, but for a moment, I stopped breathing when you dared to ask, “If I were to decline?” But there was reassurance in the bond that no, you would never truly reject me; you opened your soul to me.  _ I am yours, always. _

“Sweet and brave,” I mused, “to tease me so.” Overcome with relief I kissed you again, and said, “We both know you can’t resist me,” despite my naughty ways. Despite my attempt to act, I was aware that my cheeks were stained pink with how pleased I was with what I felt in the bond, the reminder of the union of our souls.

“You are arrogant, and yet, your arrogance is not misplaced.” A soft breath of a moan, a tilting of your head, your eyes were lidded. “Yours,” you said simply with a nod.

“Mmm.” I kissed you, and looking into your eyes I dipped my fingers in the oil. “I will have you,” I warned, pushing your legs apart beneath me.

You gazed at me with a lucidity, with eyes that have seen and known me too well, inside and out. “You have always taken what you want. I will not stop you this time.” Or any other time; you have given me too much already, and I longed to give back, but this time, this time, you were mine. You indulged me, spoiled me. You were a divine feast, and I was ravenous.

Carefully I worked a finger inside of you: you were too precious for haste. As always, I made sure to find that spot within you before intruding with a second. I watched you carefully as I worked, even though you found it amusing that I treated you as though you were delicate.

You savored the feeling, through the arch of your neck, the fluttering of your lashes, the sound of your breath. But still, there was a firmness in your gaze. “You are hesitant,” you stated. “Are you afraid, when you are fear itself?” And for a moment, it felt as if you had passed judgment upon all of my crimes.

“ _ Of harming you? Yes,”  _ I wanted to say, because how could I not fear the thought of causing you even the slightest pain. I paused, but let the thought flow through the link, because you should know how precious you were to me. I couldn’t be afraid of your judgment. If you thought I should die, then, then I would die without regret. I had placed myself in your hands and couldn’t doubt that decision, not when I loved you so and trusted you just as much. “I am not afraid,” I said, as part of the game, “but I won’t make the mistake of harming my prize.” Oh, what a treasure you were to me.

“You...have always been careful with your possessions.” A little twitch as I continued playing with you on the inside. “But I do not believe you possess enough to harm me.” A lie, I had seen you bleed before, and there was just a hint of concern in your expression when you said it. Concern that you had harmed me—my pride—I could guess. But perhaps, for now, we could pretend.

Pretend that saving me hadn’t made you bleed from the mouth. Pretend that… but I should think of sweeter things, with you open for me like this, spread out beneath me. I used a third finger and began to rub that spot lingeringly, lovingly, to distract us both from dark thoughts.

Your eyes were closed now, your thighs trembling just a little with the want to close them around my hand; my fingers felt you shift, so heated you were on the inside. You tentatively raised a hand to your own mouth, a cover for your restrained sounds.

“I want to hear them,” I told you. “I want to hear you cry out for me.” The way I felt you tremble for my touch: it gave me such a thrill, made me feel powerful, because what could be more important than pleasing you, my love? I pressed a kiss to your thigh, to feel it against my lips.

You opened your eyes, looked at me, and though your fingers were obscuring your lips, I could tell there was a smile. “You will have to take what you want, Frankenstein.” You would not reward me yet, it seemed.

I let out a sigh of disappointment, shaking my head, but my lips curled, betraying my fondness. We would have to play more games, if they made you feel freer to speak. I loved the sound of your voice, and it was a rare treat to hear it. Withdrawing my fingers, I shifted until I was at your entrance and lingered there, watching you.

A sigh from you, perhaps from exasperation, but I was happy to hear it nonetheless. “Have your fill, Frankenstein.” You shifted towards me just a bit. “Take me,” and there was the familiar tone of command in your voice that always thrilled me.

Perhaps another game, where I did only as you ordered me? I could hear your voice… but for now I had sounds from your throat to win, I thought, carefully aligning myself and thrusting in. I drew in a breath when I found myself deeply seated inside, surrounded by slick, tight heat. I wanted thrust in with abandon, be a madman in truth, but you were always my first concern.

“You are the gentlest villain I’ve known.” You tightened around me, shifted so that your hips rolled against mine for a breath or two or maybe it was none at all. “I am not delicate, Frankenstein.”

“You are  _ precious _ ,” I said, taking another deep breath before giving in and pulling out, just enough to thrust back in. “I take good care of what is mine,” I said after that thrust, for the sake of restraining myself from doing it again immediately. But where was the harm, I thought, and gave in, letting my hips establish the rhythm they so craved.

You gasped, you arched, and a lovely moan, but just a single moan before you were quiet once again. You worried your lip with your teeth (teeth that I wished were on my own skin but—) and I could see you swallow your sounds. Oh, you were daring.

I grinned, showing teeth, at the sight of your defiance. It was a pleasure to see you thus, when I worried that you were usually so passive. If only it wasn’t depriving me of the sound of you! I would just have to work harder, and I was no stranger to hard work. I pulled your hips down as I thrusted in, setting my teeth to your neck and worrying it, although I wasn’t going to draw blood unless you asked it of me.

You were tense, you were breathing harder now, head tilted back and eyes shut in concentration. You were lovely. But still, you denied me. Or tried to, because there was a sharp inhale, a subtle whimper. You, a being of blood and mind and soul, you could stop it all with a thought, but for me, you would let yourself struggle, just a bit, and for me, you were dear.

“My precious one,” I murmured, releasing your throat and enjoying the mark that blossomed there for a beautiful moment, there and gone. “So sweet, so brave to defy me.” Because you were: you defied even the noble lord. And if you had moved to the castle millennia ago, then I would have found your home empty. That didn’t bear thinking of, if I had missed my chance to know you. To have your legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer to you, wanting and  _ having  _ me, giving in to your own desires and letting me feel desired.

“Franke—” but you quickly bit it down, replacing it with a soft breath instead as you wrapped your fingers around my shoulders, gripped them hard and harder. You dug crescents into my skin and I wondered if you would draw blood (I vaguely hoped you did). I was only slightly disappointed that you cut yourself off, but as you were shifting with the feeling of me, I felt it wouldn’t be long now and I hoped not—I did not know how long I could last myself.

I lifted a finger to my lips and let my teeth become fangs. With a quick slash I drew blood, and then I set the bloodied finger to your lips. “Drink,” I ordered you (part of me wincing at the thought, but I told myself it was part of the game). 

You did, without defiance. Took the finger into your mouth, gently soothed it with a nimble tongue. You allowed yourself a muffled moan at this, but then as you bucked at the mercy of a volatile pleasure, I felt you bite down—you did not break skin—in an attempt to hang onto your silence, something you were exceedingly good at.

I smirked. With the bond between us opened and strengthened, you were washed by my pleasure over yours. Both of us were near the edge: you wouldn’t be able to hold on forever. I would get to hear your lovely voice again before the end.

And I did. You released me from your bite with an “ _ ah” _ then another and another. A moan and moans that became “ _ Frankenstein _ ” and you were calling for me, not the villain I played. You were trembling, panting, face and chest flushed. And god, there was no lovelier god. You pressed upward to me, bringing our bodies closer, if it was possible to be any closer without becoming one being entirely.

I buried myself deep within you, wrapping myself in our bond, indulging myself in the pleasure of it and letting myself seek completion as I lowered a hand to stroke your yearning flesh. You were still my Master, and I still wished to serve you, to watch you come undone by my hand and follow you. “ _ Yours, yours, always yours,”  _ I cried into the bond, consumed by the strength of my adoration.

You,  _ you _ , you wrapped your arms around me, pulled me down, and I would have gladly drowned had you pulled me to the bottom of the ocean. You cried breathily, tenderly for me. “Yes, Frankenstein,” because yes, we were each other’s. And when you came with a sweet call, it was by the union of our pleasure, of our souls, of us.


	9. Chapter 9

“Master, would you mind if we played another game tonight?” Frankenstein asked, bowing. The last one had been a success, and the idea he’d had this morning should make Raizel speak. Provided he was comfortable with that…

Raizel looked at him; Frankenstein was a playful person, and he had to admit, he preferred it when the games were between them rather than between Frankenstein and whomever it was he wanted to impale. “As you desire, Frankenstein.”

“Then order me, Master, and I will do as you will,” Frankenstein said, going to his knees in front of Raizel.

Raizel blinked and then watched Frankenstein, watched how he looked up at him hopefully. But, what was he hoping for? A pause, a silence. What Raizel willed...it was for Frankenstein to have what he wanted, be fulfilled, be safe, but he had a feeling that was not what his bonded had in mind this time. His brows furrowed slightly in consideration.

Frankenstein knew Raizel enough after ten years with him to expect that he would be waiting here for some time. It was a pleasant day, a breeze came in through the window that Master had turned away from to regard him, something that always made him feel special, that Master chose him over the window. And now Master was carefully thinking of what he wanted Frankenstein to do… wait, he realized. “Master, although you can order me to do anything you wish and I will do my best to grant your wish, for the game I was thinking in terms of sexual orders.” There, that should at least narrow it down for his poor Master!

Ah, Raizel somewhat understood what Frankenstein wanted then: submission, a game in this play of Master and servant in which Frankenstein, powerful Frankenstein, had deified him, given Raizel an intimate sort of power he didn’t deserve. He considered for a bit longer, grateful to Frankenstein for having specified.  _ Tonight _ , Raizel reminded himself; he had a finite amount of time to decide. “Rise,” he finally said, and when Frankenstein did so, he took a step closer, his fingers around the black ribbon on Frankenstein’s collar. 

Frankenstein swallowed. He had regretted being told to rise, but only until Master laid hands on him. Master’s touch was a promising beginning. He did his best to wait patiently for further orders, but watching Master’s lips made him crave kisses.

A glance to the open window, Raizel wondered if it was wise to leave it so. A certain unexpected visitor would be… He parted from Frankenstein just long enough to close it, pull the curtains down then his attention was back on who mattered the most.

Raizel looked up through his lashes, pulled the ribbon off, fabrics against his skin, and his fingers met flesh as he bared Frankenstein’s body to himself, like opening up a forbidden treasure, a gift. “Be still,” was the soft command as he kissed a warm jaw, a warm neck. And then it was Raizel who was on his knees, undoing those pants before placing his lips on Frankenstein’s thigh. Frankenstein likely had something else in mind, but Raizel felt like giving thanks first. A kiss here, a kiss there, nearer still.

Frankenstein breathed shallowly when Raizel ordered him to be still, to limit the rise and fall of his chest. Then Master went to his knees and Frankenstein was trapped by his own game. It didn’t suit the rules for him to protest, but Master… it was so very like Master. Given power over Frankenstein, instead of taking advantage of it he cared for Frankenstein. Cared for him so very much it made Frankenstein blush, touched as always by Master’s kindness.

Raizel blushed as well, though there was hardly a thing to be embarrassed about. They knew each other well enough, he liked to think, as he took Frankenstein past his lips, glancing up for a second before focusing on pleasuring his bonded. Raizel hoped this pleased him, even if this wasn’t what Frankenstein  _ really _ wanted; he would give him what he willed in a moment, in a moment, but for now, he tasted Frankenstein on his tongue, held him on his lips.

Frankenstein couldn’t raise a hand to cover his mouth and suppress the sounds that tried to escape his lips. He couldn’t fist his hands in Raizel’s hair and tug gently, or thrust forward. Master had ordered him not to move. Was the sound that he made a whimper? Dark Spear couldn’t make him whimper, but his Master’s mouth, so heated, so soft around him, heated and  _ wet,  _ inflaming his desire as he struggled to obey.

Frankenstein was full of deception, faces and facades, but Raizel was always grateful when he was honest, little noises that pleased Raizel in the way they revealed how Frankenstein felt in the moment. They would have been easy to suppress; Frankenstein was used to gritting teeth and forcing smiles. This was a small pleasure, and yet, it pleased them both immensely; it was...fun. And was that not what games were supposed to be?

He let his fangs, extended just a little, lightly scrape against Frankenstein’s skin, and he was reminded that he too was dangerous. No, Raizel never forgot. After all, execution was his duty, but with Frankenstein, honest and pleased, he did not have to feel that way. If his mouth were not busy, perhaps he would have smiled at what absurd cosmic force gave them such fates, made them play such roles. A knight, a hunter, had served himself to whatever cursed demon Raizel was, whose role was to command people to die. He was death, and yet, Frankenstein was so soft, so willing, as if Raizel were life itself, as if his orders were not sentences for the damned.

He felt gracious and beautiful in Frankenstein’s regard, because that was what Frankenstein thought of him. And for a moment, Raizel wanted to suck and lick and please until Frankenstein watched Raizel swallow him down, but perhaps another time, because when Frankenstein asked command from Raizel he wanted more than just the pleasures of a body. With a sigh, Raizel parted from him and looked up, his breath still ghosting over Frankenstein.

A small, abandoned sound escaped Frankenstein: his body missed Raizel’s mouth and wanted to beg and plead until Master took him in again with his lovely, heated mouth. But there had been a plan for this encounter, as hard as it was to think of it now when Raizel was so alluring, gazing up at him with patience and determination for his sake that made his heart melt. He flexed his ankles where his pants pooled down around them to restrain the urge to softly thrust forward, to touch those soft lips, but Master had ordered him not to move and he would do anything, anything for Raizel who tasted him so sweetly, lowered himself onto his knees for Frankenstein’s sake. 

He longed to be devoured, to let go and be cared for by his kind Master… but thinking of Raizel’s kindness made him also long to prove his devotion.

But there was nothing to prove, or rather, there was no need to prove anything, because when Raizel gazed upward to be graced by Frankenstein’s own eyes, they knew—had discovered—what it was like to be consumed. Raizel lowered himself to guide Frankenstein’s pants off completely, and took a moment to look at the body of his bonded, deceptively unmarked, unscarred, not a sign of hardship when that was far from reality. Raizel wondered how he must have looked, kneeling at Frankenstein’s feet, his lips wet with pleasure, his face just a little red, but when he rose, he was regal, summoned in him a tender command, “On our bed, Frankenstein,” and it was  _ our  _ bed for our bed it had become.

Frankenstein hurried to obey, but took care not to dart too far ahead of Raizel for his Master to enjoy the view. He was nude, naked and defenseless and instead of feeling vulnerable he nearly glowed with happiness. He had made his looks the equal of any noble’s, but he truly felt beautiful when Raizel wished to see him, had gazed up at him with eyes more precious than any rubies. Sometimes Raizel intoxicated him, made him drunker than liquor ever had simply because he loved him so and Raizel loved him in return. So this was his first love: he felt like a teenager sometimes, as though he had never been driven to desperation because there was no one else. Perhaps he might even forget what it was like to be alone, to not have someone who was home to him. Perhaps he might make Raizel forget the lonely millennia before he came, when they were together. He hoped so. He truly hoped so.

Raizel smiled a little when he stepped up to the bed. It had been empty once, dust covered perhaps, because Raizel did not use it or the room or any of the other rooms. The manor was empty. But when Frankenstein brought himself, thinking that it may have been populated, he had filled the space with himself, dusted whatever desolation there was off every surface until it shined to mirror his own hopes. A fond sigh to himself as Raizel watched Frankenstein get on their bed and the soft sheets held him like a present; Frankenstein made every day a gift. How could he command, when it came to Frankenstein? When orders were for authority and despite his title, Raizel had none over Frankenstein. But for him, for him, he would be whomever he needed to be.

Raizel leaned over Frankenstein, the bed dipping further with his weight. A kiss on his lashes. “Keep your gaze forward, Frankenstein,” and he felt a little guilty for denying Frankenstein, but with those eyes on him, Raizel did not know if he could play a proper Master. He breathed on Frankenstein’s neck, kisses and kisses and fangs as he traced the shapes underneath Frankenstein’s skin.

Unable to turn to see him, Frankenstein was left to focus on sensation of lips on his skin and the teasing touch of fangs that made him shudder in instinctive threat and learned desire. “Master,” he whispered, struck with longing for, for what he was given. Raizel’s touch and Raizel’s voice, to wrap around himself to ward off the cold. He bowed his head, careful not to shift his gaze as much as he wanted to look down. Not in dismay, no, furthest from dismay. He would never be alone again, those greedy touches from a patient being promised him.

Frankenstein could not see Raizel’s brows crease just a little as he concentrated on the skin beneath his touch, how warm it was, how sweet was the sound of Frankenstein’s whisper, of his breath. It was Frankenstein’s pleasure that was important, and he was considering. It still felt strange, to be called Master, to be called Sir, when his authority came solely from his duty to kill, but the thought of hurting Frankenstein in the slightest—he could not do that. But this was a game, and he was determined. So, his hand slid under Frankenstein’s back, his nails dragged against his skin, as Raizel kissed down his stomach.

Master had ordered him not to move, but, “Master, may I touch you?” Frankenstein’s voice was only a whisper, thick with longing. He had thought that Master would order him to serve: he should have known better. Raizel was too unselfish for that, but it left Frankenstein hungry to press lips to warm skin, to grasp silken hair in his hands like the treasure it was. The touch of Master’s nails made him shiver, an edged caress that made him think of claws. The hint of danger and utmost trust, because he was safe here, safe and held and cared for. He wanted to kiss every bone in the hands that held him so carefully: he wanted to melt in Master’s arms. Next time he wouldn’t try to be clever and come up with a game as though he could control Master, he would just kiss and caress and sate the urge to cuddle and press close until they came against each other, undignified and still so very good.

It was perplexing, sometimes, for Raizel to decipher what would please Frankenstein the most. While it was clear that his own happiness was also Frankenstein’s as Frankenstein’s happiness was his own, there were different types of happiness, different types of pleasures, and Raizel was aware that quick decision making was not one of his strong suits. He had come to realize this when Frankenstein had started presenting to him all things that were nice—he was never able to choose one over the other.

Raizel looked up, lifted himself off of Frankenstein, and his lips were pressed together with consideration. A breath, and yet he still felt a pang of guilt when he asked, “Who are you, to ask something of me?”

_ You are everything _ .

_ Nothing and no one, _ Frankenstein almost said. Raizel had taken his blood: his will was the noble’s to control, and Frankenstein had made that choice himself and had no right to complain, but… but to Raizel, he was, “Your bonded,” he said, and swallowed. “Your bonded asks it of you, Master.” Raizel didn’t have to let him, but he raised his head hopefully, realizing that the movement showed more of his neck. He trusted that Raizel would give him leave, if he asked it of him: more than that, Raizel would do it because he was precious to Raizel. 

The most powerful of the nobles, the one even the clan leaders respected, and to him Frankenstein was a precious existence. He made Frankenstein feel precious, instead of mad, a criminal, inhuman even before he changed himself because of how he thought, how he was born… but to Master, he was precious and it made him bow his head again, almost convulsively, his hair falling in front of his face as he shuddered, a strange feeling he couldn’t name in his chest because it meant so much to him. How gentle Raizel was with him, the fact that with Raizel he could be delicate, if he wanted to be. No matter what, he was safe here, because Raizel would never harm his bonded—no, even before Frankenstein was his bonded he was precious to Raizel. Even before that, Raizel had let him stay by his side.

Frankenstein knew how to break him, to be so delicate, so lucid that it rendered Raizel helpless. He lifted himself so that he met Frankenstein’s eyes, met his lips with his own, just briefly. His fingers on the side of that offered neck, offered time and time again. Their faces were close; they breathed quietly, and Raizel wished for a moment that an eternity could pass just like this. “How would you like to touch me, Frankenstein?” he prompted, his voice as low as a secret.

Frankenstein swallowed. “I want to hold you to my chest, Master. Feel your warmth, feel that you are here with me.”  _ That you are real, that I am not alone _ . That the noble he loved loved him in return, enough to indulge him, no, to wish to indulge him.

“You have my permission,” because it was impossible to deny Frankenstein that. Truly, Raizel was helpless.

“Thank you, Master,” Frankenstein said, and moved. Wrapped his arms around Raizel, tucked the Noblesse’s head under his chin and pressed his cheek to that sleek hair. Master’s body was as warm and solid in his arms as he had dreamed, and he let himself breathe in the air of the room, scented with Frankenstein’s own desire for his Master, for the one he held in his arms. He squeezed his master, strongly but carefully, allowing himself the luxury of just feeling. He shifted enough to rub his cheek against his Master’s, and then bowed his head again, yielding to whatever his Master wished to do from this point on.

Raizel was still as Frankenstein held him, feeling his tender sculpted body, warm skin against his own, and Raizel understood. How nice it was to be safe and shielded, and he wondered what it would be like to call someone like Frankenstein ‘Master.’ A worthy one he would make, Raizel was sure. But for now, he reached a hand to the back of Frankenstein’s head—what lovely tresses curled around his fingers—and tugged as his lips brushed Frankenstein’s neck. Raizel sighed, and he bit down just how Frankenstein liked it.

Frankenstein shuddered, hanging off his Master, caught up in the feeling of the bond as it intensified, leaving him drifting in his Master’s care. “Master,” he murmured, all trust and utter devotion, ignoring the ache between his legs. Master would take care of him, and what was a bit of discomfort next to the strength of their bond?

When Raizel lifted his head, there was blood on his lips and just a little trace on his chin, a reminder of whom Frankenstein gave himself to, of whom he belonged to.

Frankenstein let out a soft sigh at the sight of it. The one with the greatest power over blood: that was who had his blood. That was why even he, with his genius, knew that he was helpless in Raizel’s hands now, since he gave that blood. And he was glad of it, happy enough to crave doing it again and again. He bared his throat to his Master and he was given not mere mercy but love.

Raizel smiled gently as he pressed his hips against Frankenstein’s. “You are...simple to please,” and it was a half truth, simple in the way that it was within Raizel’s power to please him so, and he was glad. “And I will please you.” It was the least he could do. Raizel sat up. “Undress me.”

Frankenstein was not easy to please: he had very high standards indeed. All the Union’s power was not enough to content him, he’d demanded the immortality of the human race instead. Here, what made him happy was no less than the utter devotion of the most powerful of the noble race: Raizel’s love was no small or simple thing. “Yes, Master,” he said, eagerness quickening his hands, his fingers flying on the buttons of his Master’s simple white shirt. It was often servants’ work to dress or undress their Master, but picking out a shirt was one of Raizel’s pleasures, so Frankenstein was loathe to insist on putting on Raizel’s shirt in the morning for him. What if doing it himself was part of the experience for Master? But removing the shirt, Frankenstein could do that happily, rewarded with the sight of his Master’s elegant, lithe form.

Raizel always noticed the care Frankenstein took in attending to him. From the way he poured tea to the way he undid buttons, his hands were always eager, always practiced, and still so gentle. His eyes, whether cast downward in an introspective calm or forward with an invitation, they were always sparkled with some type of wonder. And he was wonderful, and he was done. “Kiss me,” Raizel said, managing some semblance of a command.

Frankenstein stepped forward, pressed close to his Master and, feeling daring for it even though he was being obedient for once, joined their lips together, tasting the sweetness of the tea. He always thought it appropriate, when his Master was so very sweet. The desire to feel his Master was far from sated after that brief hug, so he nestled close, even wrapping his arms around his Master again as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. 

Kisses were dangerous; they were invitations for fangs, for possession, but to Frankenstein, they were enchanting. Certainly, Raizel was enchanted, so much so, that he would do anything Frankenstein requested, save for going against his duties, but their wills were so alike that their duties were mirrors to each other. Dear protector, he wished to protect him.

Raizel pressed into Frankenstein, pressed him against the headboard, opened his mouth just a bit wider, devoured him just a bit more hungrily as if he were capable of feeling hunger. Perhaps for Frankenstein, he did.

Frankenstein’s low moan was captured by Raizel’s lips: he loved it when Raizel wanted him. Joy bubbled inside him, left him pressing his hips up against Raizel’s. He was well and truly caught, held down by Raizel’s weight and body. He was more than capable of throwing off that weight, but why on earth would he, when Raizel was only doing more than Frankenstein could dare to ask of him? Raizel could keep him from breaking free with the power the noble had over him, but again, it was foolish to think of that when Raizel would never. Frankenstein knew that his willingness mattered to Raizel, that Raizel was just as touched that it was Frankenstein’s will to be near him as Frankenstein was that Raizel permitted it, let Frankenstein have what he wanted. To force Frankenstein’s will would break his heart, and his heart was precious to Raizel, oh, but not as precious as Raizel himself, nothing could ever be. 

The protector of the nobles and the protector of the humans: they cleaved together, soon to be joined in flesh as well as soul. Or perhaps not: it was up to Master what they did tonight, and there was more than one way to find pleasure in each other. Frankenstein’s thighs spread apart and his cock dripped precome thinking of Master inside him, but it would not be bad to finish here like this, pressing against each other, craving closeness. Anything would be wonderful when it was with his dear Raizel.

Raizel grinded against Frankenstein, a melodious sensation that drew their breaths out. Slick against skin and they were warm. He sighed, pressed a kiss by Frankenstein’s ear, another on his neck. He was gentle, grateful, because it was Frankenstein who had taught him such indulgences among many others: sweet sweets and tea and heat. His hand slid up Frankenstein’s chest to his throat, here, here was where he had bitten him for the first time—where they had bitten each other, and it was a sacred site. Raizel pressed their foreheads together as his fingers felt Frankenstein’s breathing. That he could hold his bonded like this, hands to his airways, yes, he was grateful; he was baffled. Frankenstein had let him come so close, close enough to still his breathing if he wished to—close enough to bite, to bond. A melodious sensation that made them breathless.

His bonded moaned for him, arching his neck into Raizel’s hand, proving he was entirely aware of just how close he had let Raizel, how far through his defenses, and regretted it not one bit. Instead he tempted Raizel to act, signaled his willingness for whatever Raizel chose to do, as though it never occurred to him that Raizel could use this power to harm him. No, he knew, and relished it. Because Raizel could and did not and that meant something to Frankenstein, as though it was special that Raizel chose not to harm him.

When even Frankenstein’s own soul weapon harmed him, perhaps it did mean something that someone, anyone, he let so close treated him as he deserved. No, not even a fraction as well as he deserved, but enough to have him pushing up against Raizel, savoring the feeling of warm skin against skin and the slickness where they slid together.

When Frankenstein presented himself before anyone, he was grandiose, but before Raizel, he was cosmic, more than anything Raizel could have imagined. And it was in this fortunate universe that Raizel could have him in his hands, and rub against him, and press his nails, just slightly, into into his skin, not enough to still his breathing but just so that Frankenstein felt himself held. Felt that Raizel accepted whatever was offered. Still, he was hesitant to truly take and use and command, because Frankenstein was who he was. He was— _ you are too giving. _

“ _ Master…”  _ Frankenstein hummed, nudging his neck up into the fingers on his throat fearlessly. “ _ For you, how can I not be? When you accept all that I am.”  _ Warmth curled through the bond, warmth and deep gratitude, even knowing Raizel did nothing for gratitude. A calm, patient acceptance, because, “ _ You are wonderful, Master, even if you don’t realize it.”  _ And that made Frankenstein sad, but he understood that it was a side effect of Raizel’s modesty, not something that could be changed. It left Frankenstein to value Raizel as he should be valued, a task he was willing to take on. “ _ You make me happy, Master, a happiness I thought I left behind long ago _ .” With Raizel Frankenstein was happy just to be, but oh, Raizel gave him so much more than that.

Raizel was taken. He stared for a moment at Frankenstein. Happiness, and that was all that Raizel could really wish for. That it was he who made Frankenstein happy, Raizel was filled with a giddiness, a sort of wonder as if he were seeing the flowers of Frankenstein’s garden for the first time. He leaned forward to kiss, to steal breath as his fingers dared to curl around Frankenstein’s throat; he felt the movement under his skin, and he was amazed, that he was allowed to hold Frankenstein’s very breath.

Frankenstein’s lips curled for a moment before he opened them for the kiss: he felt his Master’s gentle amazement in the bond and the emotion was so perfectly  _ Raizel _ that he could only treasure it, be glad that he was allowed to feel it. The bond was a communion of souls and it made him burn to tear apart all those who desecrated it, turned something sacred into a plague. Because sacred, yes, how else could he describe laying here in the bed he had made for Master, a sacrifice laid upon an altar of his own devising, and he  _ burned  _ for Raizel, longed for him, could feel his body cry out and soul sing for him. He breathed in past the grip on his throat, and the air came from Raizel’s mouth, was breathed into him. Everything he needed he was given: he was held precious, allowed to make this place his own and  _ stay  _ here, with the one who loved him so. 

And somehow Raizel was surprised that Frankenstein was happy: Frankenstein could sense his giddiness and it filled him with the same feeling until he had to laugh,t relaxing down into the bed and just, just loving, because how could he not?

Their faces were rosy when their mouths parted with such a seductive tension as if it were only unnatural to be apart. Raizel swallowed as he glanced down between them—a sigh. “Stroke us, Frankenstein,” he said, as Frankenstein was so fond of giving them both pleasure.

Frankenstein wrapped a hand around them carefully and thrusted into that hand, sliding against Raizel, feeling that his Master was there as he began to rub gently up and down. The link let him feel that he was giving his master pleasure, pleasure that added to the warmth in his heart and made him proud, that he could make his master feel that way. That he could replace Raizel’s lonely silence with pleased sighs and perhaps even a soft moan for him to enjoy.

Raizel’s eyes closed momentarily as he curled from Frankenstein, neck stretched just a bit back, allowing himself to feel Frankenstein  _ for _ Frankenstein, and in doing so, his hand pressed just a bit more firmly against Frankenstein’s too willing throat. Too willing, because who was Raizel to have him? But still, he shuddered, his lips pressed together in a gratifying sound.

Raizel could feel Frankenstein’s elation when he heard that sound, and hear the answering sound from Frankenstein’s own lips. Frankenstein’s enjoyment was in no way diminished by the grip on his throat: no, he liked it, the way he liked everything Raizel did that wasn’t self-sacrificial. 

Frankenstein’s life was in his Master’s hands, and he was content to have it there. There was no one he would rather entrust it to, no one else he could trust the way he did Raizel. He stroked them carefully, savoring the questing movement of Raizel’s hips the way he savored the hand on his throat, knowing that both were proof Raizel desired him. Wanted to keep him, wanted him to stay, found pleasure in his company and his bed. Frankenstein pressed up, seeking a kiss, wanting to open his mouth to his Master the way he gave him everything else. And that was what Frankenstein wanted, to give, to indulge them both.

How Frankenstein found pleasure in what Raizel did, in how Raizel executed his duties—the commands and stolen breath, silenced souls—it was both perplexing and wonderful, made him feel wonderful, and he could almost imagine himself alive beyond his duties, could almost lust for it. He rocked against Frankenstein in earnest; he did not feel lust the same way that Frankenstein did, but pleasure, he did feel. Yet it was beyond mere pleasure, at least of the body, it was a completion, a fear of separation, as if it could break them both to break them apart. And in their souls, that was true. The way Raizel breathed, it was only Frankenstein who could affect him in this way, how the very air in his lungs wished to join Frankenstein, and again, their foreheads were together so that they were close enough to breathe each other in. For a moment, he could not help but press against that neck, lashes fluttering, a low moan, his fingers firm with his feeling; he was helpless.

And so was Frankenstein: they were alike in this, as in so many things. Frankenstein had chosen to become helpless before Raizel. It was his will instead of a failure of his duty, like all the other things he couldn’t succeed in. So it was alright for Frankenstein not to struggle, to let Raizel take his breath away. It was alright for him to smile, feeling that pressure on his throat. It was alright for him to greedily drink in the air that passed from Raizel’s lips, to obey the command that Raizel voiced with greedy hands wrapped around them both. He reached out to Raizel through the bond, coaxing him: was it not good? Was it not right, to be like this, together, their souls curling ever closer, surrendering to the perfection of their union when they were both cursed with a destiny of battle.

It always elated Frankenstein to twine their souls together and to do the same with their bodies. And it brought Raizel just as much joy, because as undone as they made each other, they were never more whole. In their intimacies, it was always with a sense of fulfillment that Raizel was allowed to witness when Frankenstein gave himself to pleasure and feeling and  _ Raizel _ . And Raizel wished very much to see him unravel to sweetly, so preciously it hurt to realize how guarded Frankenstein was to the world.

They were sliding against each other and what lovely heat. A harsh breath from Raizel as he leaned to Frankenstein’s ear. “Come,” he ordered and this time, he did not hesitate to use his authority.

Frankenstein mewled, shaken by the abrupt command and relinquished control, always willing to obey his Master. He shuddered underneath Raizel’s comforting weight and came back to himself with his stomach and his master’s length covered in white fluid. He resumed stroking, because he hadn’t been ordered to stop, and moaned again: he felt so sensitive, rubbing against Raizel’s velvety hardness. Gasping for breath, he wondered what Raizel might do now. Order Frankenstein to taste him, lick him clean? Take him, reach deep inside him and make him come again on his Master’s hardness? He shuddered with anticipation, overstimulated and still wanting.

Raizel smiled softly. It amused him, sometimes, when Frankenstein chose or did not choose to be obedient, even if he sighed at some of Frankenstein’s habits. He removed the hand from Frankenstein’s throat; he had not pressed hard enough to leave marks that wouldn’t have faded the moment he let go, but he could mark skin in other ways, with teeth and tongue, and he did. He knew how much Frankenstein savored being bitten, tasted, consumed.

Raizel was aware of the mess between them, one of the few messes Frankenstein tolerated, and he reached down to slide his fingers against Frankenstein’s still obeying hand, slide against himself, wet with Frankenstein’s pleasure. He pressed those fingers to Frankenstein’s lips.

Frankenstein opened his lips to him, always, and licked and suckled beloved fingers. “ _ Master _ ,” he breathed inside their souls, tired and still willing. So different from his aggressive exterior, soft and delicate, nestling against Raizel’s soul as his body lay beneath him, playing at tameness. For Frankenstein would never give up his will to another; it was trust that let him lie here, and Raizel could only be honored.

Honored that Frankenstein would let him in, in every way, life, soul, and surrender. It was trust; it was ecstasy. Sometimes, Raizel could forget how to breathe from it, from Frankenstein. He lifted himself off of Frankenstein. “Taste me, Frankenstein.” He leaned back on his arms, let his eyes glow so that they stood out from the dim room. “Suck.” He tried not to blush too deeply. 

“Yes, Master,” Frankenstein said softly, turning over and shifting down the bed until his elbows supported him over Master’s body. He lowered his head slowly, picking up the cock that pressed against Raizel’s stomach and licking at it, making a show of it for his Master, wrapping his tongue around it to clean it off before pressing his lips to it. He tasted himself and his Master both, and his own cock tried to rise just thinking of it as he drew the head past his lips and began to suck. He was not a gentle thing: he sucked hard, drawing the head down his throat, working to give his Master the pleasure he deserved.

Raizel’s head was coyly tilted as he breathed deeply, easing himself into Frankenstein by lifting his hips towards a welcoming mouth. “It pleases you to serve me.” It was not a question.

_ “It does _ ,” Frankenstein confessed, feeling dirty but liking the feeling enough to pull back and, pressing a kiss to his Master’s thigh, say, “It does, Master.” It made him feel safe, wanted, but there was an excitement to it as well. There was no one else he could imagine obeying like this, just like he would never gift his soul to anyone else, he thought, gazing up at his Master.

Even if Raizel’s gaze was gentle, he reached down to curl his fingers in Frankenstein’s hair that was always silky and perfect, even during things like this, and pressed Frankenstein’s head towards himself. “I did not tell you to stop,” he said, and there was a soft wonder in himself, because outside of their games, Raizel could not dare to demand something of Frankenstein; he did not deserve to.

Frankenstein smiled up at him reassuringly and took his Master’s hard cock into his mouth again. It was alright: he wanted his Master to be honest about what he wanted. He hoped that this might teach his Master that it was alright to ask more of Frankenstein, when there was something Raizel truly wished for. Like, hopefully, Frankenstein himself. He sucked carefully, doing what he thought would feel best, moving his tongue on his Master. He certainly didn’t mind getting more practice with this: he wanted to be good at it, for Master’s sake.

Raizel sighed and curled around Frankenstein. Yes, he truly did desire him, and the desire followed him as much as Frankenstein himself did. Raizel parted Frankenstein’s hair so that it fell forward over his shoulders, the the locks brushing Raizel’s thighs. His fingers skimmed the lines of Frankenstein’s back, ghosting over the grace of his neck and between his shoulder blades, and Frankenstein shifted under his touch. Raizel hummed appreciatively, a soft gasp, as he observed—savored—Frankenstein, all of him, and he let himself moan for him, tenderly rocked his hips, for him, for the desire of him.

Pressing his hips into the mattress, Frankenstein shifted his weight, feeling himself harden again. His master’s gentle touches enchanted him, and he let himself moan softly around Raizel, looking up at him through the strands of his hair. He made a note of how his Master had arranged his hair—did he like the feeling of it trailing over his thighs? Perhaps Frankenstein should obtain some feathers and trail them along Raizel’s skin to see if he liked the sensation. His heart swelled with contentment at the thought of exposing his Master to a new pleasure, seeing the expressions that flashed on his face, his amazement and how grateful he was for everything Frankenstein did. It made everything worth it, a thousand times worth it.

“I excite you,” Raizel murmured and he could almost feel pride in himself for having an effect on Frankenstein. A shudder before he pulled Frankenstein off of him, moved a bit back to look at him, lips wet and chest rising with breath. “Prepare yourself for me, Frankenstein.” Raizel delicately caressed his own length. “You will come on me.”

Hearing those words Frankenstein moaned. “Yes, Master,” he said eagerly, reaching for the oil and sitting next to his Master’s legs so his Master could watch him pleasure himself. His Master loved to see him in pleasure, would want Frankenstein to rub that spot inside himself, work himself open until he was panting with want. He was used to pain, but his Master hated to see him in pain, so he would take his time and oh, why was it that everything he thought about made him love his Master more? He leaned against his Master’s chest now, hips in the air and head beneath his Master’s chin, soul curling around his and just breathed in the scent of their lust, of the pleasure they had already shared.

Frankenstein was mesmerizing in pleasure, he was mesmerizing in pain though Raizel never wished to see him so, but always, Raizel wished to see him. Mesmerizing in how Raizel desired to watch over him. But Frankenstein was Frankenstein and if he desired it, Raizel would turn his eyes back to his window, settle back into silence, watch him leave for a greater, grander world. For now though, Frankenstein was with him, pleasuring himself with the anticipation of him, making sweet sounds through a melty half-smile. Raizel watched, his own chest stuttering here and there. He stroked Frankenstein’s hair, then shifted so that his fingers fanned over the side of Frankenstein’s neck. He closed the space between their lips.

Frankenstein moaned into the kiss, pressing his tongue into his Master’s mouth as he pressed a second finger into himself, thinking of how he would soon have Raizel inside of him as the fingers worked and scissored. He shouldn’t rush too much, he knew that, but he longed for Raizel to cover him again, to press deep inside him and make him cry out for him with utter abandon. He could be shameless with Raizel, seek pleasure instead of bind himself with iron discipline so he didn’t show any weakness. He could pretend he had no higher purpose than to be his Master’s pretty toy, that there was no one suffering because he wasn’t good enough. He could get on his hands and knees and say, “Please, Master,” because he  _ wanted  _ and his Master thought he deserved to have his wishes granted.

And Raizel could grant them and Raizel did. He took a hold of Frankenstein’s hips, pressed them to his own teasingly. He wondered, what was it about himself that made Frankenstein shudder, that made him plead to be taken? That made him lower himself to his knees, press against Raizel, his fingers curled around the sheets. ‘Please, Master,’ he had said, but  _ please, Frankenstein _ , Raizel was struck breathless. How could Frankenstein be a pretty toy, though pretty as he was, when he was the one who played so well? But Raizel could understand that desire, for a complete servitude allowed by the completion of an ideal world. Frankenstein would choose to rest with him, and it meant that same world to Raizel.

“Shameless,” he observed, not with disapproval, but with gratitude. He slid in, slow, languorous. “You are always eager to have me.”  _ As I am for you. _

“You feel so good, Master,” he said, as shameless as when he fought an enemy because why should he deny himself this? He’d stretched himself just the right amount, so his Master slid home comfortably but he was still tight for his Master, and there was satisfaction in the thought as well as arousal.

His dear Frankenstein, perhaps ‘shameless’ was not quite the right word, though it was true he felt no shame in being so sweetly wanton before Raizel. He was honest, so much so, it made Raizel’s chest ache. Raizel moved within Frankenstein, seeking pleasure just as Frankenstein did, because it pleased them both. Raizel too laid his feelings bare, a heated desire, a swelling gratitude—utter appreciation. Just a low groan coiled in the back of his throat. “Frankenstein,” he called. “Touch yourself for me,” because his bonded deserved any and all pleasures.

Frankenstein groaned at his Master’s words and reached down, curling a hand around himself and thrusting into it, then back against his Master.  _ Master… _ His Master who appreciated him so, who spoiled him, giving him every pleasure just as Frankenstein tried to bring new pleasures to Raizel’s life. How had he found someone so perfect, he didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve such a gentle lover who embraced him now, filling him up until he could feel that he would never be left empty again. The world had turned against him and yet he still found someone in it like Cadis Etrama di Raizel; Dark Spear was right, that he was lucky, unfairly so, to have found a mate for his soul itself while they were bound to chaos. He was able to rest here, in Raizel’s arms, take refuge from the world and sigh and moan to answer gentle caresses and strong thrusts.

Raizel had realized, after their first few times, that Frankenstein enjoyed it when he acted, when he moved, with decision, even when he was not very good at it outside of battle. Strange, wondrous, Frankenstein found pleasure in nails and fangs and blood, despite having avoided such things throughout his existence—despite having scorned them. But if they were Raizel’s, he made lovely, loving sounds and Raizel would give him all of this. Would bend down to sink his teeth into the back of Frankenstein’s neck, would scrape his nails along his thigh and hold on tightly to his hips enough to bruise, just a little, would drag himself inside along Frankenstein’s flesh.

“Mmm, ah!” Frankenstein always loved it when Raizel took his blood and strengthened their bond: he could get lost in it, in the union of their souls. He shuddered beneath his bonded and pushed back against him hard as Raizel gripped his hip, encouraging him to rut against his Master. He could come, just like this. He was allowed to, Master had said Frankenstein would come on his cock and he moaned at the thought, bowing his head and pressing into the pillows.

Sometimes, seeing Frankenstein so pleasured, so abandoned, Raizel was overwhelmed and he imagined himself crying, but he did not shed tears, not for these games. That would cause needless worry, so he smiled softly instead, sighed and breathed against Frankenstein’s skin. Rocked his hips so that he reached Frankenstein  _ everywhere _ . “ _ Frankenstein,” _ his head to the pillows, his thighs trembling, so wet and dripping onto his own hand, he was precious, and Raizel, so greedy and wanting, could only desire him more. He shuddered on Frankenstein’s sounds.

“ _ Master,”  _ and Frankenstein came for him, offering up his pleasure, his everything, through the bond between them. His entire being a gift for his Master on a silver platter, his body clenching around him as Raizel kept thrusting, prolonging Frankenstein’s pleasure as his bonded let out precious, broken sounds. Overwhelmed and beyond grateful for it, for his Master’s generosity, how it felt so good.

They moaned for each other. Raizel shivered when he pulled out, when he was satisfied that Frankenstein was completely pleased. “Turn over, Frankenstein,” and Raizel gave him time to do so, as Frankenstein’s movements were weighted with his release, but still, he obeyed, and Raizel leaned over him again, pressed kisses to his lashes, his forehead, his lips. He nipped at Frankenstein’s neck, a hand tangled in Frankenstein’s hair, scratching at him gently. “Frankenstein, make me come on you.” Raizel blushed; it would not take him long.  _ Mark yourself with me. _

Frankenstein moaned at Raizel’s words and reached to take his Master’s cock in his hands, working it with skill that owed more to his time with Raizel than his time alone. He thought of it, spread out under Master, Master’s length dripping on him and shared those visions with Raizel. Master’s breath on his skin was heated and Frankenstein leaned up for a kiss, wanting his lips joined to his Master’s as he came.

Raizel gave him this, gave him himself and his pleasure. No space for air between their mouths, and Raizel shifted, twitched as he came, making a mess of Frankenstein. He moaned against that mouth and in the back of his mind, he was terribly embarrassed, but it was pointless to feel that way when they were together like this. He trembled still with his release even as he kissed deeper, not wanting to let up even for air, because  _ Frankenstein _ , he was his, was  _ mine. _

Frankenstein tasted his master languidly, tired and content. Raizel had spoken, let Frankenstein hear his voice, had made his wishes known and done as he liked. Frankenstein cuddled up to him now, letting his Master see through the bond how pleased he was, that he didn’t care about noble elegance, just what they shared together. “ _ Thank you for indulging me, Master,”  _ he said through the bond when Master didn’t break their kiss.

Ah, Raizel parted from his lips, glanced down to see how he had streaked Frankenstein with so much of his own fluid. He blinked, his face surely red, but “It is the least I can do,” he managed to say, as tempting as it was to turn away and make small sounds in lieu of anything coherent.

Seeing Raizel’s distress, Frankenstein used his power to clean himself off and leaned over to embrace his Master. “I do not do what I do so that you will owe me anything,” he reminded Raizel softly. “You don’t need to do these things for me if you don’t want to. It would sadden me,” to think of Raizel being forced by his own honor. “I enjoy trying new things with you, but not if they make you uncomfortable.” At least the bond and their intimacy would let him know if Raizel was forcing himself to go along with Frankenstein’s latest whim; Raizel did not hold the bond closed often, especially when they were intimate.

He relaxed into Frankenstein’s hold. “It pleases me, to please you,” he said. “I desire our intimacy as well, Frankenstein,” he said a bit softer, hoping that Frankenstein would not take it as a demand. If Frankenstein desired it, Raizel would lie with him, if he did not, Raizel would not. He pressed closer, an arm around Frankenstein.

“I feel the same,” Frankenstein told him, pressing a kiss to Raizel’s forehead. “I love that we are… together in passion.” His eyes were warm as they met Raizel’s.

Raizel nodded, his gaze wandering to the locks of Frankenstein’s hair that settled over his shoulders. Raizel’s fingers brushed through them. He met his eyes again. “You have given me more pleasures than I could ever know.” A breath. “You have given me yourself,”  _ and you are immeasurable,  _ and in this, Raizel was unwavering, because Frankenstein was like the stars, countless and twinkling and beyond anyone’s reach.

“You have given me a home, you have given me… I also have you.” Their contract was a True Contract, was it not? Raizel had given him his very soul, just as Frankenstein had, and Frankenstein melted. “I have you,” he said, and it was a promise as well as a claim. He would take care of Raizel, who didn’t think about himself anywhere near enough, just as Raizel gave Frankenstein what he’d needed so much he was dying of it.

Raizel smiled. He rested his head against Frankenstein’s chest. Their souls were settled, but this was far from a deal with a devil, as much as Frankenstein played at being one, sometimes. Curled around each other, skin to skin, they were bare—they were gifts, unraveled and unraveled again just for each other. Raizel closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of his bonded, and whether or not he was deserving, they desired to be bound. He hoped they would stay just so, hoped against whatever real devils existed.


	10. Chapter 10

His Master was a work of art sitting there on the edge of the bed waiting for him, his long legs elegantly crossed. Frankenstein knelt and kissed both his delicate feet before starting to kiss up one of his legs to reach the thigh, holding the red silk cord behind his back.

Raizel watched silently. There was a hum in the back of Frankenstein’s mind; he was eager, Raizel could tell. Though that would not be unexpected; Frankenstein was always eager to serve, to indulge. To make him blush and render him helpless every time regardless of what roles they chose to play that day or night or afternoon.

Frankenstein nuzzled into his master’s thighs, remembering thrusting between them, having them wrapped around him… all the delights of congress with his Master. Fondly sighing, he backed away a little and bowed his head, taking his hands from behind his back and holding them up, displaying the cord for his Master’s approval.

Raizel touched the smooth fibers, dyed a bright red. It was...his style. He withdrew his hand and nodded.

Leaning forward to press another kiss to the top of Raizel’s foot, Frankenstein first bound Master’s ankles together. Caught, he thought with satisfaction. Bound to Frankenstein as Frankenstein was bound to him. He loved ornamenting his Master this way.

Raizel smiled softly, his limbs obedient. Indeed, caught: bound and bonded. So gently Frankenstein treated him, even in this, and the cord was not a restraint even as it pressed against his skin; it was a caress, an embrace: Raizel, a jewel seated in—held by ribbons.

He lifted up his Master’s legs, placing him on the bed, and gently guided him to kneel. Pressing a kiss to his Master’s shoulder blade, he sat at his side and carefully began to tie the first knot, slipping his Master’s fingers between the loops and bending his hand back.

The soft slide of rope and skin, Raizel looked over his shoulder, looked up at Frankenstein, arched gently for his touch and felt his back and arm stretch, felt Frankenstein’s fingertips ghost over him. A breath, quiet appreciation.

Frankenstein wrapped the rope around Raizel’s arm, pulling it through and wrapping it around again. Each movement careful and deliberate because Raizel always valued Frankenstein’s time and attention and Frankenstein wanted this to be beautiful instead of simply serviceable, a fit ornament to his Master.

Fitted as well as themselves, Raizel could infer. He curled his fingers, felt the pull of the cord hold his movements. “You have me at your mercy,” he said softly, and smiled to himself at that statement; it was a flippant thing to say.

The ropes would break with a thought if Master wished it: the truth was that, “I am at your mercy, and I am infinitely grateful for it.” Frankenstein pressed a kiss to Raizel’s exposed palm, finally tying the knot off and shifting to Raizel’s other side to bind his other hand in the same way. Then he might tie the elbows to each other, and bind a tie around Raizel’s throat to the rope connecting them so that Raizel’s chest arched forward, or he might begin binding the chest. No matter what he did, his Master would be utterly beautiful.

“As I am for you,” was not something that needed to be said, but still, it brought them both a little joy to hear it. Both arms bound and Raizel shifted his shoulders to feel Frankenstein’s handiwork, to feel his hands or the memory of them. He was held. He was grateful. He bent his head forward and closed his eyes, exposing the line of his neck to his back where his shoulder blades pressed together as his bent arms reached slightly back. And he waited for whatever it was Frankenstein chose to do.

To bind Raizel open, or to appreciate the red bindings on his beautiful skin? Master would be glorious in one of the more elaborate harnesses, so Frankenstein held the rope to Master’s chest. He parted his lips to lap at the beautiful line of Master’s bared throat.

Like spiderwebs, like textiles, geometry on his skin,red lines on his flesh like arteries. Raizel sighed softly at the touch of Frankenstein’s lips, felt his heart beat just a little faster in anticipation as Frankenstein passed arcs and rays across him. He was tied, immobilized because Frankenstein requested it of him and he was happy to please, to be pliable to Frankenstein’s hands and lips and will as he was bound so warmly.

Raizel, with whatever movement he was allowed, pressed his neck to Frankenstein’s lips, desiring just a bit more touch, a bit more teeth, because here he was, wrapped up in ropes and presented like a morsel.

A soft groan escaped Frankenstein and he shifted his mouth to the side of Raizel’s neck, worrying at the sensitive skin. Marking his dear Raizel, leaving another mark of possession like the bindings. Because Raizel was his and he gloried in it, yearned for him like air. It was hard, but he pulled back from Raizel to appreciate the bloom of color on his skin before it vanished. When it did, he yielded to the desire to lean forward again and lavish more attention on the soft skin of that neck.

Raizel leaned into him, cute, he thought, how loving, how sweet, and he was pleased. Softly, the sheets beneath him rustled as he shifted, squirmed just a little against the the bindings to feel them there, to feel Frankenstein’s hold on him: he was completely in his care. Raizel wondered how he must have looked, so decorated.

“Beautiful,” Frankenstein whispered against his skin. Master was always beautiful, so gentle and so serene. It made him want to cuddle up to him and free Master’s hands so Master could stroke his hair until he fell asleep in his arms. Afterwards, afterwards he could do that. He had all of tonight to spend with Master, to be one with him and beautify him. Leaning against Master, he felt the bindings on his chest. He should finish the harness before it started to come undone, he thought, and pulled away reluctantly.

“Frankenstein,” Raizel whispered, just to hear his name in the air. Perhaps he would have caressed him, tangle his fingers in his hair or run them over his skin, leaned in to kiss him even, but as he was now, he could not do those things, or, he could, but that would mean undoing all of Frankenstein’s careful work. So instead, he pressed himself against Frankenstein, as the bonds kept him cautious.

Frankenstein could gag Raizel, but his voice, oh his voice was too precious to miss. He pressed a kiss to the cords before wrapping them around once again, bringing them to the center of Master’s chest, working carefully. They mustn’t be too tight, everything had to be perfect for his Master. It touched him that Raizel used the freedom of motion he still had to press close to Frankenstein, the way Frankenstein yearned for Raizel all the more when he was bound. His Master was so adorable, so perfect.

Raizel had been guided to kneel and perhaps an outsider watching may have deemed such a position unfitting—inappropriate, weak, far from ‘perfect.’ That he had surrendered control like so, that he was allowing himself to be tied up, tied down. That he bent forward, lowered his head as if in supplication. He felt the rope press to his skin, felt the tension in them at the movement, and he felt like he belonged completely to the one who—not reduced but—cared for him in this way. The one who owned him, possessed him, at least for the moment.

Frankenstein kissed his forehead, honored by Raizel’s willingness to submit to him, as he always was. He made one last adjustment to the ropes before securing them and sat back to admire the chest harness, how it framed Raizel’s body with an elegant lacing. “Beautiful,” he said again, and went around to Raizel’s back to secure his arms to the chest harness, pulling his elbows behind his back in a way that made him appear helpless. Just as Frankenstein was helpless in Raizel’s grasp, and he loved to make Raizel feel the same security he felt in the binding that ensnared his soul. He knew that his soul was beautiful to his Master: he wondered… but he could ask. “Does it feel like this to you?” he asked him. “To have my soul bound up in your power?” Was Frankenstein beautiful for him?

His sigh was almost inaudible as he tilted his head, his eyes lidded, considering how he was to answer such a question. He did not doubt for a moment how Frankenstein dazzled him, how he left him speechless and wanting, but to put in words what their very bond was like? “I would not know how to exist without it.” It was an addiction, so intoxicated was he.

“Master…” Frankenstein gazed at him softly. “ _ My Master, mine _ .” As distracted as he was, his hands kept working, quickly securing Master’s arms, and then he began to connect Master’s ankles to the harness, to bind him in a kneeling position, unable to bow forward the way he had so cutely earlier, as much as Frankenstein had enjoyed it. His Master was so cute and sweet… and beautiful, utterly beautiful—heavenly—with the cords to match the warmth of his eyes, a flame that burned for his sake, when before he had been so cold.

A soft sound left him as Raizel was shaped like clay to Frankenstein’s hands and he was strung, tuned like the curves of a viola. Another sigh, blushing at Frankenstein’s adoration.

Frankenstein’s smile deepened. He adored it when his Master blushed, the way he’d try to conceal how much he was affected but be endearingly overwhelmed. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered into Raizel’s ear, and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing lips and teeth to his neck again.

Raizel let himself shiver at that and sink into Frankenstein’s hold as much as he could with himself so caught, muscles under his skin shifting carefully against the binds, some pulled taut as he moved. Perhaps there would be marks, but for now, he made a soft sound of yearning, unable to initiate contact himself. He should know how to be patient, he reminded himself and smiled; yes, he really would not know how to exist without Frankenstein.

Taking the lube from the bedside table, Frankenstein went around to Raizel’s front and put his head on Raizel’s lap, hot breath ghosting over Raizel’s length. Coating his fingers, he began to stretch himself, shivering as he anticipated taking Master inside. He moaned softly, knowing Master enjoyed hearing his pleasure.

Oh, Raizel looked down, breath catching at the sudden closeness and he could only breathe and wriggle slightly, taking whatever Frankenstein decided to give him. He refrained from shifting that small distance forward to have Frankenstein’s lips brush him; he wasn’t sure if he could even if he tried.

Frankenstein wriggled forward, shifting closer to Raizel, and mouthed at him, tasting his erect flesh. Turning over, he swallowed Raizel down and began to hungrily pleasure his Master. He felt impatient as he roughly stretched himself, and he knew that Master didn’t mind him taking the lead when they were like this.

“Frankenstein…” Raizel sighed, followed by a few hums of delectation behind his closed lips. But perhaps it would be best to not be so quiet this time as he had no ways to please Frankenstein back other than with his sounds; no, he could not even curl around him as he savored the sensation. A longer, breathier sound then, as Frankenstein so eagerly had him between his lips and down his throat.

Hearing Raizel, Frankenstein hummed with pleasure to encourage him and continued, running a finger over that spot inside himself. “Mm—” it did feel good, but not as good as having Master within him would. Hastily, he stuck in a third finger, thanking himself for his enhanced healing.

How nice it would be, to have his hands in that hair, Raizel mused, to let Frankenstein feel him further by scraping his nails against his skin, to appreciate him by gently pressing forward. Raizel felt the rope slide against him as he shifted as little as he could to those lips, that pleasure, and it was heated and slick. He moaned, a note of want as he watched Frankenstein pleasure himself so alluringly. “Frankenstein,” he called again and how he loved his name.

Because he couldn’t answer with words, Frankenstein opened the bond between them. “ _ Master.”  _ Looking up through his lashes, he saw that Master was, “ _ Beautiful, so beautiful. _ ” In pleasure because of him. Body straining against red cords, yearning for Frankenstein as Frankenstein yearned for him.

“Ah…” his lips slipped open, and Raizel arched a little, still careful in his movements. If only, if only, he could hold Frankenstein close and completely. A sigh, a shiver, and he wanted more. “Will you have me, Frankenstein?” he asked and felt greedy for it.

Frankenstein slid off of him reluctantly. “Always, Master,” he said, and withdrew his hand from himself to slick his Master, pressing a kiss to his Master’s thighs. For his Master to be greedy for him, to want him made him shiver with delight, because he wanted Master to want him more than he wanted anything else in the world.

Raizel hummed in a teasing pleasure, and he was glad to be able to give Frankenstein what he wanted, because what more could he want other than Frankenstein when it was he who had given him everything? “You...there is nothing more,” Raizel uttered, and he hoped Frankenstein understood, because he was bound, held helpless in Frankenstein’s giving hands, and he belonged to him.

“You are everything,” Frankenstein said, and once again pressed a kiss to Raizel’s thighs. Perhaps he should bind them next time, wrap them with a pattern of delicate cord. The thought of Master in fishnet stockings made him snort: Master was too elegant for that, although it  _ would  _ suit him. Master would look wonderful in just about anything, but he prefered to dress according to his individual style. But he wore the ring Frankenstein gave him even though it wasn’t his style, and let Frankenstein adorn him and was always so kind to his servant! He pushed himself up and went to sit on his Master’s lap, wondering if he might stroke them together until both of them were wet with the lube, but he felt empty and wanted Master inside him. So he turned and took hold of Master, groaning as Master slid up into him.

As limited as his range of motion was, Raizel managed to lean into Frankenstein’s neck as a pleased sound left him. He kissed him there, nipped gently at his skin, feeling Frankenstein’s weight, slick and heated on him.

Frankenstein pressed back against Raizel, feeling the cords caught between their skin as he circled his hips and let out a moan. “Master…” he said breathlessly, tilting his head back to rest it on Master’s shoulder, craving more contact between them.

Raizel breathed and felt the strain of the the rope. How he wished to please him, give Frankenstein the closeness he wanted, wrap his arms around him, embrace him truly as much as he desired. He pressed their bodies close, as much as he could, and “Frankenstein,” he called back. “Will you touch yourself for me?” Raizel requested, as he was unable to himself.

“Yes, Master.” Frankenstein obeyed as always, then licked his lips. “Will you tell me how I should touch myself?” he asked hopefully, raising his hips and feeling Master start to slide out of him slowly.

Raizel paused for a moment and blushed deeply. “Your chest, your—” he spoke softer “—nipples…” He tried not to retreat in embarrassment and leaned into Frankenstein’s skin, placing kisses on his neck once again.

Master was simply too cute. “Yes, Master,” Frankenstein said happily, raising his hands to trail over his chest, then caress his nipples. He teased and twisted one of them, a little rougher than Master would be; a little spark of not-quite-pain balanced with the pleasure of his Master’s sweet kisses. Frankenstein carefully began to slide back down against his Master, wanting to give him pleasure as well.

Raizel delighted in feeling Frankenstein, embraced with the urge to press up into him, reach where he knew would make Frankenstein shudder. But Frankenstein’s pleasure was not in his hands this time, so “Your...cock, Frankenstein,” he mustered a whisper. “Stroke it slowly.”  _ I want your pleasure to last. _

Moaning, Frankenstein obeyed, basking in how much pleasure it gave him to obey his kind Master. As his warm hand stroked upwards, he clenched around Raizel and shifted his hips before starting to lift them up again.

Raizel placed kisses, scraped his fangs on the skin he could reach. His fingers curled around the loops of rope and still he was held back. He sighed. “Frankenstein,”  _ you feel lovely.  _ As he always did, as he always was.

“Master, oh, Master…” To be told that he felt good for him, when he was the one Frankenstein wished to serve with his life, with his everything? Frankenstein shuddered and whimpered, pressing down on him again, wanting him deep, wanting to be taken and owned. He adored his Master, adored him utterly, ached to serve him.

When it was Raizel who was currently kneeling, who was at the mercy of  _ Frankenstein’s _ whims, who was the one decorated with red, as if Frankenstein had bound him with his own blood, and he had. Yes, that was true and he loved that it was so. He shuddered against Frankenstein’s skin, let out a contented noise from the back of his throat as he slipped fangs into his bonded’s flesh, his lips pressed to Frankenstein’s shoulder. Because it was not Raizel’s power to drink from Frankenstein; it was Frankenstein’s power to offer, and in his offering he owned him.

Raizel wished to wrap his arms around him, hold him and comfort him beyond comfort; it was the least Frankenstein deserved. To feel adored and sacred as he made Raizel feel. But for now, for now, he withdrew his fangs only to bite again and again and maybe once more after licking at the few wounds he had already left, wanting Frankenstein to  _ feel _ him, hoping that he was enough, as if each time he bit, he could press Frankenstein further into his own soul, something too wonderful for his own good. “I want you,” even though he already had everything he could want. “I always will,” because Frankenstein liked to feel desired and Raizel had learned to desire.

Frankenstein trembled, caught up in bliss, feeling Master bite him so hungrily. Flares of momentary pain were soon lost in what he felt through the strengthened bond. He wished for a moment that he was the one tied up, for the bindings might steady him and he felt about to fall over, a weakness in his limbs as he pressed back against his Master, body framed by his Master’s bound hands. He felt weak, but that was alright. Master was here. He was loved.

It would have saddened Raizel if Frankenstein felt any less than loved. Oh, how he wanted him to feel all that was delightful and nothing else. Raizel was only able to shift his hips a little, so even if Frankenstein’s limbs were unsteady as he rested against him, “Continue, Frankenstein,” he said, his breath and lips grazing the back of Frankenstein’s neck. “Make me feel you”  _ and only you _ , for he was everything.

Drawing in a breath, Frankenstein lifted his hips and pushed back down, then again, and again, shifting his body so his Master pressed into him where it made him twitch and shiver and he was moaning. It felt so good, but Master always did. His hand was still wrapped around himself and he thrusted up into it as he rose from where he was joined with his Master. His pleasure in the bond, an offering to his beloved god.

So sweet an offering. Raizel had settled with himself that he was undeserving of such gifts, but Frankenstein,  _ Frankenstein,  _ it was his nature, his lively desire to give. A tenuous groan as Raizel closed his eyes, indulging in the feeling of Frankenstein’s flushed skin against his, against the cords, as if he were being smothered by heat and all things that were painfully lovely and he made a strained sound underneath all the loveliness. 

Frankenstein moaned in answer, loving the sounds that fell from his Master’s lips like gems. He kept thrusting fucking himself on his Master’s cock and feeling delightfully, deliciously used. The velvety hard heat within his body made him groan as he tilted his head back again, hoping for another bite or even just the caress of his Master’s lips.

He received as he desired: Raizel bit down again, harder this time, appreciating how willing Frankenstein’s flesh was to him, soft and warm and singing. And as he drank,  _ Tell me how it feels to have me in you, Frankenstein. _ He did not have to ask.  _ My fangs, my cock, _ he managed.

Those  _ words…  _ Frankenstein panted harshly and said, “It feels so good, Master, to be filled with you, to have you  _ take  _ me.” He pressed against his master, feeling the cords, feeling the evidence of just how much Master permitted him. “It reminds me that I’m  _ yours _ , and I feel… so very happy.” He felt his words were utterly inadequate and sent an apology through the link, moaned and rubbed back against his Master, clenching around him. “Having you inside me connects us, reminds me that my soul is in yours and we are bound together forever.”  _ Yours, always yours. _

Raizel licked at the new bite, kissed it as it healed. Even as Frankenstein sank down over him, he was full of Frankenstein, completely subsumed. Raizel had learned how to hunger and it was only Frankenstein he would devour, only he who filled him. He swallowed, a breath, “You so eagerly have me,” and he was grateful. “It pleases you so much,” and Raizel was always in awe.

“Yes,” Frankenstein breathed. “Yes, always. And it pleases me to be tied down and have you devour me, and when you come to me and wrap your arms around me, pull me onto you.” He let out a quiet sob, remembering that and when Master let Frankenstein carefully open him up and push deep inside that beloved body, coaxing him to let go of his control and thrust with abandon. How good it felt—with Master it was always wonderful.

Raizel moaned, calling breathily for Frankenstein, the utterance a thanks. “Mmn,” as he was wrapped tightly and stroked by Frankenstein’s body. His chest pressed towards Frankenstein in his breathing. “Still your hands,” he said. “I want you to come only with me.” He hoped Frankenstein wouldn’t mind.

“Yes Master,” Frankenstein said, and closed his eyes, reaching for the bond and the pleasure Master felt, if Master was willing to share it with him.

How could Raizel be any less than willing? After all, all that was his, was his. His pleasure, himself, his soul, they were all Frankenstein’s and Raizel was bare before him, tied up like a present. Pleasured syllables and heated sighs, and Raizel shivered, sucked in a breath and huffed with his lips to Frankenstein’s skin, feeling him move so earnestly, lovingly, lovely. His love. He loved him. That did not need to be said. It was obvious enough. Raizel closed his eyes and breathed Frankenstein’s name as if it gave him life (perhaps it did).

Oh his sweet Master, a thousand times sweeter than the tea he drank. Frankenstein’s cock dripped down on Raizel’s thighs and he wanted to apologize. To lick him clean, but the liquid disappeared as he watched and he smiled with relief, closing his eyes and thrusting back with half his attention on the bond, on the echoed sensations running through his veins. On how good he felt around Master, and how good he wanted to be for Master, always. 

It was a conundrum, how scathingly arrogant Frankenstein could seem, how arrogant he  _ was _ sometimes, and yet, he still underestimated himself. Oh, he was far better than just good. To Raizel, he was crowning, consummate; he was—“You are... a fantasy,” because that he was here and with him was the stuff of dreams.

Raizel shuddered gently, arched back softly. “Ah,” he felt like coiled flame and he indulged in the feeling. But he wanted to—and he would—last, because it was Frankenstein’s pleasure that Raizel always paid attention to. Dear, dear, “Frankenstein…” 

Blushing at the praise, Frankenstein bowed his head. Wordless, he sent in return his love for Raizel and what ecstasy it was to have Raizel inside him, taking him. To feel the cords rub against his skin where they were pressed together and  _ know _ what they meant. His Master, his love, his fulfillment, and they were bound together, skin to skin and soul to soul. His thighs trembled as he lifted them up only to press back down, as eager as a sunrise.

Raizel made a helpless sound as he pressed slightly forward again, breathing against Frankenstein’s back. If only there were more he could offer in the moment, because he wanted to pleasure Frankenstein until he was incoherently spent and splendid and languid.

Sensing Raizel’s desire, Frankenstein quickened his hips, slamming Raizel against that place deep inside again and again, questing after completion. Once he came on his Master, as he was ordered, he could free his Master from the bindings and Raizel could do as he pleased to Frankenstein, to please them both.

Raizel refrained from rocking against Frankenstein, but still, his legs shifted against each other. Perhaps it was a harsh breath, but the sound he made was reminiscent of something predatory, of some ugly image of himself that lusted for blood, but Frankenstein was not his prey. And yet, they both found something cathartic in the giving and taking of blood, of bite marks like brands. So Raizel set himself to piercing red constellations on Frankenstein’s back and shoulders, offering feeling when he felt like he himself could scatter like stardust.

That  _ sound _ , to hear Raizel hungering so for him… Frankenstein came as fangs slipped into his flesh, eyes slipping shut as he surrendered his pleasure to his Master, shuddering again and again as each bite made his body shift and shifted Raizel inside him.

Ah, Frankenstein,  _ Frankenstein _ . Beautiful, unfurled, hallowed “Frankenstein,” and Raizel was panting as he said his name, before sinking his fangs just once more into Frankenstein’s neck, his eyes closed in the feeling of Frankenstein’s and his own surrender as he trembled in his release, still seated deep in Frankenstein’s flesh. And this pleasure, he too offered Frankenstein.

He drifted there until Master’s fangs released him. Then Frankenstein let Raizel slip from his body with a little noise of compliant, missing the fangs as well, and turned to press his body to Raizel’s warm chest. “Master,” he breathed, and raised a finger to trace it over the knots binding Raizel’s left arm, cutting them loose.

Raizel smiled at Frankenstein warmly then raised the freed arm to comb his fingers through Frankenstein’s hair. Perhaps it was only appropriate that Frankenstein had tied him up, red ropes to bind the vampire, but if that were so, he would have bound his mouth. Raizel sighed against Frankenstein, lowering his hand to Frankenstein’s back, feeling for wounds he may have left, but there were none, to his relief, even though Raizel knew at this point not to expect any.

Frankenstein’s head slid under Raizel’s chin, tilting up to press his lips to Raizel’s neck. His arm wrapped around Raizel’s back to cut the ropes there, but his weight held them pressed to Raizel’s chest.

He tilted his head slightly for Frankenstein’s kisses, for the soft blossoms on his neck, feeling Frankenstein’s glowing joy call for his own. Raizel arched forward as the ropes loosened, stretching his back and shoulders, and arms as well when both were freed. Being bound was not painful or strenuous for either of them but it was still pleasant to regain mobility that allowed Raizel to properly attend to his bonded, sliding a hand along Frankenstein’s thigh just to feel his skin as he leaned into him, a warm body, a warm soul.

Frankenstein bathed Raizel’s neck in brief, whisper-light kisses, remembering the bites and how their bond surged when Master took his blood. He freed Raizel’s other hand, wanting it on him. They curled together like union itself, content in the afterglow. Frankenstein just appreciating how Raizel held him, happy that he could lie there loving his Master and feeling that he was loved in return.

Once again and again, Raizel was captured even when Frankenstein released him from the bonds, but always he was safe. Because even as he was bound, he was no object; he was a deity, the rope, a crown that Frankenstein bestowed upon him, deemed him worthy of worship with body and blood.

Raizel stroked at Frankenstein’s hair, gently massaged at Frankenstein’s neck with his fingers. “You are… so much,” he murmured.

Closing his eyes, Frankenstein savored his Master’s caresses. Master was exquisite, a flaming supernova in a dark space. At first he’d thought him far, remote, out of reach, standing by his window, eyes to that same space, but he came close enough to touch. He allowed Frankenstein to touch him, to warm himself in Master’s embrace. “Master, you are everything,” he said, feeling overwhelmed, infatuated by the immensity of what Master was to him.

They looked at each other, and that was all that needed to be said.


	11. Chapter 11

It was with ritual practice that Raizel slipped the ribbon from Frankenstein’s collar, that he parted his black jacket. He glanced down, the fabric in his hands, and he folded it, his lips pressed together; perhaps there was a crease in his brow. He looked up, and it was always with gratitude and joy that he could lie with Frankenstein, that he could have him, but, “You submit to me so readily” and he was grateful for it “but do you not wish be the one to steady me?” at least on occasion, because—Raizel blushed a little—he also found it comforting when he knew it was Frankenstein who was leading them both. “You have a will to act upon, Frankenstein.”

“Yes,” Frankenstein said, taking Raizel’s hand to kiss it. Yes, he submitted to Raizel so easily, so naturally, as though he was made for it. As though he had remade himself with no purpose but to warm Raizel’s bed, keep him from ever being cold and alone. “Forgive me, Master,” he said, after pressing a kiss to Raizel’s knuckles. “I didn’t mean to make you go without.” The last two times he was supposed to be in control, he had ended up submitting to Raizel. For Raizel to comment on it? His master must have missed his dominating streak, which was flattering. It always made him happy to know that Raizel enjoyed what they did together.

Frankenstein took the fabric from Raizel’s hands and ordered him to, “Strip, my sweet.”

And Raizel could not help but smile softly, because even this, Frankenstein did on his request, but he obeyed. The buttons, the cravat—and his jacket slid off his shoulders. He folded the items and placed them on the edge of the bed as he divested himself, cool air meeting his skin as he beared it, feeling the slide of fabric.

“Lovely,” Frankenstein murmured. “So lovely.” He pressed a finger to the underside of Raizel’s chin, tilting it up to taste his lips. Still sweet from the tea Frankenstein made, just for him. “I want to feel your cock, hard and hot in my grasp, aching for my touch.”

Ah, “Hm,” the words had caught him off guard. Raizel blushed, glancing away only to return his eyes to Frankenstein, and he saw a semblance of a smirk. “Do what you will,” Raizel said softly.

“Adorable, my sweet.” Frankenstein tilted Raizel’s head again to admire his blush. “Come, sit in my lap,” he told Raizel, feeling his own hardness strain against his pants.

Raizel did as he was told, crossing his legs at the ankles and placing his hands on his own lap. He was rarely in this position, and it made him feel a bit smaller than he actually was. Frankenstein was warm against him and he did not miss the touch of Frankenstein’s excitement.

He traced the curve of Raizel’s rear, pressing up against his body. “Should I make you beg me for it?” Frankenstein asked. “I do love to hear the sound of your voice…”

Raizel sucked in a soft breath, a bit surprised. Indeed, Frankenstein was not as often like this with him. He pressed snugly against Frankenstein, and, “Please,” he said, demure even when he was being shameless.

“So shy, even after everything I’ve done to you.” Frankenstein wrapped a hand around his length. His other hand slid down Raizel’s back, tracing the outside of his entrance. “I want to watch you come undone, experiencing all the pleasure you denied yourself for so long.”

Raizel sighed and swallowed. His feet rubbed against each other slightly as Frankenstein’s hand knew how to please him well. “My pleasure, Frankenstein, lies with you,” he surrendered; Raizel would only receive what he was given.

Frankenstein melted. A soft, breathy, ‘Master…’ almost escaped his lips, but no. He was going to stay in control, not yield to Raizel. When he kissed him, because he had to kiss him after that, he would devour him hungrily, not coax Raizel to explore his mouth. He would stroke him with a steady hand. He would bring his sweet to orgasm and lay him down on the bed, pliant and willing and adorable.

“Listen,” Frankenstein said as he stroked Raizel’s cock. The sounds were undignified, but what mattered was that, “Your cock weeps for me, can you hear how wet it is? It’s proof you  _ want  _ it, want me.” And perhaps there was water in the corners of Frankenstein’s eyes, but he blinked it away. To be wanted by Raizel, it was everything. Overcome, he hid his face against Raizel’s neck and bit it for an excuse to be there, yearning and hungry.

Raizel moaned, a short, soft sound, his face warm. “I do,” and he was earnest. And because he knew Frankenstein would appreciate it, “You, more than anything.” There was a smile his bonded could not see as he tilted his head for him.

He groaned into the side of Raizel’s neck. ‘Master,’ no, “My sweet.” His his _his_ sweet Raizel. “I will keep you all to myself.” _Never let you go, never let you be alone_. “You feel so good on me, _around_ me.” He bit gently at Raizel’s ear.

Raizel breathed deeply, his breath quickening, and he closed his eyes. He was glad, that Frankenstein found enjoyment in him and began to grind against him, rubbing that clothed hardness against himself and Raizel felt so… forward. Raizel’s face was rosy as he moaned for him. For him.  _ For you; _ it was a simple offering.

“Beautiful,” Frankenstein said gently, to reassure Raizel when he wasn’t used to being so open with what he felt. “Delectable,” he added, pressing his teeth to Raizel’s neck again, worrying at the soft skin. He savored the feeling of Raizel pressing against him, his Master’s earnest attempts to please him. Arm wrapped around Raizel’s body, he could feel his Master’s hastened breaths, like a trapped bird. He didn’t want to imagine Master panicked, but it was pleasing to imagine him caught. Entirely in Frankenstein’s care.

“Mm...” Raizel was honestly wet in Frankenstein’s firm grasp, so lovingly his fingers slid against him. He sighed and squirmed a little, his own leg rubbing against Frankenstein’s. Frankenstein’s praise, it made him flutter.

Cute. He wondered which sound Raizel would make when he came. A dainty little sigh, a soft cry… “I want to hear you come for me,” he said, kissing Raizel’s blushing cheek as he rubbed under the tip of Raizel’s cock with the pad of his thumb. “And then I will lay you down on the bed and stretch you with your own come.” With the evidence of Master’s pleasure.

Raizel blinked and made a small sound at the words, at the thought, and he would comply. He leaned back onto Frankenstein, indulging in his presence and his heat and his skin, in the feel of himself, so warm and eager in the mercy of that hand. He moaned softly again, savoring the sensations. Coming like this would surely dirty them both, and he almost wanted to cover his face with his hands, but Frankenstein liked to see him and hear him, and so Raizel refrained. He shifted, not quite thrusting into Frankenstein’s hands with small movements until he gasped. Raizel arched back as he came, and he let himself shudder against the body that held him as his shaky breath left him.

Oh. Once again and as always, Raizel was utterly beautiful in pleasure. Frankenstein couldn’t help a small whimper escaping him, just  _ wanting _ . He got himself under control and kissed Raizel as he turned, picking him up easily to lay him down on the bed. Raizel’s legs opened for him, so sweetly and Frankenstein almost couldn’t bear it. “I want you so much,” he breathed. “Forgive me for hurrying.” As he spoke he was already slipping a finger inside Raizel, undoing his pants with his other hand and quickly sliding them off him, leaving the shirt.

“I do not mind,” Raizel said breathlessly, the feel of Frankenstein making him hum—pressing so closely down on him.

“I will have you open for me, slick and wet and yielding, wrapping your arms around me to hurry me as I press inside you.” Wanting Frankenstein to take him, wanting to surrender his body to his bonded, as Frankenstein surrendered to him.

Raizel could only manage a “hm” and turn slightly to the side, his hands resting by either side of his head in a sort of submission, still breathing deeply from having just come, and he knew Frankenstein would indulge him again. A sweet savoring sigh.

Frankenstein smiled down at him and pet his hair back into place, even if being disheveled didn’t bother Raizel as much when he was like this. He was the same, it was impossible to be that bothered by being dirty when Raizel was spread out before him like this, willing and open. He reached along the bond, just gently, just to have Master feel that he was there. Not that Master wasn’t aware that Frankenstein was here with Frankenstein slipping a second finger inside him. “Yes, just like that.” So good for him, Raizel was.

He responded with his own presence just as much. “Frankenstein,” Raizel murmured as he placed his hands on Frankenstein’s shoulders, kneading the skin just beneath the fabric. He moved a bit, not quite thrusting, but he let out a soft pleasured sound nonetheless.

Frankenstein’s free hand settled on Raizel’s hip, pushing him down gently, guiding him to press against Frankenstein’s fingers as they opened him up. Frankenstein couldn’t help gently rubbing that place inside Raizel, wanting to hear more of those delectable sounds from him. “You like this,” he stated because he knew.

“Yes.” Raizel looked at Frankenstein, admired him. He reached to tuck a lock of Frankenstein’s hair that had fallen, behind his ear. “Yes…” he repeated, softer, letting his gaze fall as he more shamelessly pressed himself onto Frankenstein’s fingers, sliding against his touch.

“I want to take you,” Frankenstein said, and positioned himself between Raizel’s legs, reaching to the bedside table for the strawberry-flavored lube to slick himself. He needed a moment to regain control after touching himself with the hand he was using to apply it—he wanted to thrust in and for a moment thought of spilling himself over Raizel, leaving his lovely lean body splattered,  _ marked _ . He pumped himself once, twice thinking of that vision. He had promised to dominate Raizel, but Raizel’s body was so hot around his fingers. Would he have the self-control to pull out? Yes, if it was to satisfy Raizel (anything for Master).

Raizel wrapped his arms more completely around Frankenstein, pulling him down and closer until their breaths touched. He shifted, teasing himself with Frankenstein’s cock pressed to him. “Please,” he offered quietly, hoping he was sweet enough to be taken.

Oh, Frankenstein thought, his eyes going half-lidded. He wanted to give in, to sweetly say, “Yes, Master,” and obey, thrusting in to make Raizel feel good. “Ask me again,” he said instead, “tell me how much you want it, and I’ll give you what you desire.”

Raizel paused for a moment, eyes alight with a mild surprise. He took a breath. “I want you… more than all else I know.” He glanced at Frankenstein through his lashes. “Thrust into me, Frankenstein, take me, make me tremble for you. I want to feel us.”

Frankenstein couldn’t help but give in to Raizel. He could never help it, not when Raizel was so, so, “My sweet,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss him before positioning himself to thrust in. He had to pause after burying himself in Raizel: so tight, so hot, so  _ perfect _ . He lay there, most of his weight on his elbows braced on either side of Raizel’s chest, and let himself tremble for a moment, feeling his quickened breathing as it stirred Raizel’s hair.

A slow, delicate moan left him. “Thank you,” Raizel whispered. And Frankenstein felt perfect in him; perhaps it helped that Raizel had some control over the shape of his body, but no, even if he did not, Frankenstein would please him just as much. Raizel rocked his hips against Frankenstein’s wanting to feel the drag of the length inside of him.

Pushing himself up with one arm Frankenstein pulled back out of Raizel, only as much as he could bear. Their bodies fit together with the ease of long familiarity, as though they had been lovers for eight hundred and twenty years and parted not even for a day. His soul soaked in Raizel’s warmth and he wanted to bare his throat and whimper, submit everything he was to his Master’s will, but instead he pressed close, pressed his teeth to Raizel’s throat and let out a slow breath as he thrusted back in again. He felt Raizel all around him, here with him, and he loved him so.

Raizel made breathy sounds. Oh, he felt the same and pressed his throat forward for the sake of closeness. “More, Frankenstein,” he said before a hum. What a feeling, to have his bonded inside him in every way.

He obeyed, knowing his Master would forgive him for it, thrusting in and out as they found a rhythm together. “It feels so good to be inside you.” He shuddered with it. “How does it feel when I’m fucking you?” 

“Ah, mm,” were sounds of embarrassment. Raizel bit his lip, felt himself tremble a little, a soft whimper just for Frankenstein’s ears. “Good…” He sighed. “It feels good; I forget all else.”

Frankenstein kissed him, open-mouthed and wet, so glad to make Raizel feel something good, to make him forget duty and traitors and just feel.

His sounds were muffled in their lips and tongues.  _ It is a delight, _ Raizel added.  _ An intoxication _ as pleasure and heat and shudders washed over him, and he hoped Frankenstein noticed. Frankenstein smothered him with nice things and he wanted to cry out for him, show how much he appreciated them, wrapping his legs tighter around Frankenstein’s waist in feeling as Raizel’s hand tugged gently at his hair.

_ You intoxicate me  _ as well: in this, too, they mirrored each other, and Frankenstein never felt as  _ right  _ as when he was by Raizel’s side. Burying himself in his Master’s body again, he pulled out only to recapture that feeling. Heat and pressure and pleasure, tongue and teeth and he pulled back, gasped once for air only to recapture Raizel’s lips, feel their heads tilt as they poured themselves into each other.

Ecstasy, and it made them ecstatic. “Frankenstein,” Raizel whispered when he had the opportunity to as he reached down with a hand to touch himself, still wet from his previous release. There was already precome on his stomach but it was too late to be bashful even if he wanted to.

Frankenstein reached down and wrapped his hand around Raizel’s. “Touch yourself for me,” he ordered.

He made a helpless sound. Feeling Frankenstein’s hand on him, it was intimate, and Raizel obeyed, his hand firm and slow and careful, suddenly a bit self conscious as if Frankenstein had not known every part of him already, had not know his pleasure. He sighed softly, eyes downcast.

Raizel’s  _ sounds,  _ oh, how strange it must be to him to be helpless, and yet he bore it for Frankenstein’s sake. And Frankenstein would protect him. Always. He kissed his bonded on the forehead, just overcome with how adorable his Master was, how cute it was that he let out a little soft sigh, and Frankenstein wanted to curl around him, cleave to him for eternity

Raizel shivered, closing his eyes and pressing up towards Frankenstein. “It feels good” was his soft voice, “to be this way for you.”  _ Because of you. _ It was something special, just for them. Sometimes, it felt taboo. To indulge in such sweet things and words and be someone he was not supposed to be.

They were dirty and greedy, always wanting and wanting more and it was thrilling. Selfish in the sense that they were themselves, and it all felt so very good. The sighs and moans, soft cries and the inelegant sounds of flesh and fluid. Raizel never wanted to stop, and he was allowed such abject desires.

“And I, for you.” Anything, anything at all for Raizel, and Raizel wanted him to be warm and pleasured and pleased, utterly, body and soul and destiny. He sank deep into his Master and moaned at how good it felt.

Noble bodies grew from and shifted with their souls, and when Frankenstein pleasured Raizel’s body, his soul sung just as euphorically. To have Frankenstein in him only made him want to press closer, drag his flesh beyond flesh so that they merged and then Frankenstein, dear Frankenstein, could lie within him truly. So when their skin was heated, their flesh wet—undignified—it was a hunger that captured Raizel, as if he could gather his bonded up and consume him as Frankenstein served himself, because Raizel’s body was an interface for his soul and he wanted him  _ in _ .

Perhaps it was appropriate, then, that Frankenstein called Dark Spear his lover, as much as it worried Raizel. Because they, as much as Raizel, wanted Frankenstein to rest within them.

“Frankenstein,” Raizel called, breathless. Then again, “Frankenstein,” as if his form were straining not to dissipate just so that he could surround Frankenstein fully, envelop him, cover him, have him to himself—a truly greedy thing. Raizel moaned, abandoned, because his body could hardly contain them both.

His Master called for him, he could not but answer. “My sweet,” he murmured, and seized Raizel’s lips for his own, kissing him forcefully as he shuddered at the feeling of Raizel’s soul moving against his. He loved the evidence of his Master’s desire for him, the love and closeness he felt like this. It soothed a soul familiar with Dark Spear’s agony.

Almost too much, but it was never enough. Mouths and hands and  _ inside _ . Raizel’s lashes fluttered as well as his breath as Frankenstein tasted him again, and there was not enough room for air. Hot, heavenly, Raizel twitched inside his own hand, his slick between his own fingers and Frankenstein’s hand almost protectively—possessively—around his own. And he came, unable to cry as he was being devoured. His heels dug into Frankenstein’s back as he shook with the waves of his release, and it was messy—him, a mess, gladly. He spurted over himself, but “Keep going,” he said in a daze when he had the chance for breath.

Raizel clenching around him as he came was divine, but if Master asked it of him he would resist and keep thrusting, prolonging Master’s orgasm. “Good?” Frankenstein asked him, smiling down at him, hoping to be graced with a small nod and his Master’s adorable blush. Or perhaps his generous Master would make the effort to find words for him? Oh, no matter what Raizel did it would be enthralling, with his sweet, earnest nature.

Raizel nodded, then, after a soft huff, “Yes,” his eyes shut tightly in how lovely Frankenstein was to him. “Yes…” Raizel whispered again, moving with Frankenstein even when his knees felt weak. A lazy sort of moan left him as he was so soaked with pleasure.

Raizel was so lovely like this, yielding to him, letting Frankenstein take him, and Frankenstein made sure to repay him, even though Raizel didn’t do it for gratitude, by enjoying it to the hilt. He let himself speed up, pounding into Raizel forcefully and bringing himself close to the edge. He remembered what he’d thought earlier about coming over Raizel, marking him. The feeling of Raizel’s body around him was sweet, but the thought was tempting…

Raizel cried out shakily, breathily, head gently tossed back as he stared at nothing in particular. It was quiet, if not for his sighs and moans and cries, but even these were not very loud. For a moment, Raizel wondered what it was he was doing, being so wanting, so wanton, the sounds between their bodies making him blush; he hardly seemed like himself, making these noises, asking for more even when he was already full. He wanted for the sake of wanting, because it made his chest tight, made him flushed, made him simultaneously ecstatic and desperate. When Raizel had deemed emotions a luxury for him, this was as decadent as Frankenstein’s finest sweets. As thrilling as when Frankenstein took him so fiercely, each thrust a tumultuous pleasure. “Frankenstein,” his name a moan as Raizel reached up to grasp at his shoulders, dig his nails into his skin, as he tried to hold onto himself, as if composure mattered at all between them. “Please—” he cried even though he did not know what he was pleading for. Perhaps it was absolution. “Please…” he managed once more before he could only utter broken sounds.

Hearing such noises, Frankenstein overflowed with the desire to steady his Master, to soothe him. To let him know that it was alright to feel such things. Alright to feel. A soft moan slipped past his own lips as he pressed them to Raizel’s gently, just gently, even though he shook with force and passion. It felt so good to be inside his Master, and perhaps it was alright to let go and come, just like this, hearing Raizel whimper with how good he felt—and Frankenstein felt the urge to do the same, but he wanted to take care of his sweet Raizel and it would distress Master to hear a sound of distress from him. He loved it, just how much Master loved him, and with that thought he closed his eyes and spilled himself inside his Master.

What a delight it was to have Frankenstein so pleased inside him, as if Raizel’s body could be sweet and soft and not a mere vessel for a weapon. He felt Frankenstein’s heat fill him and sighed, his fingers wandering to Frankenstein’s hair as he pulled from his lips to place kisses on his cheek. “Thank you,” Raizel said softly, because it felt good to bring his bonded pleasure. His touch slowly drifted to Frankenstein’s face then his lips. “Clean me, Frankenstein,” he gently ordered, blushing just a little, wondering if he was allowed the command now.

He felt his Bonded’s eager submission, because Raizel’s will was such a precious thing to Frankenstein, even more precious to him than his own will. Frankenstein’s power washed over them, cleaning them both, as Frankenstein curled against him, withdrawing from him only to press close and kiss at the curve of his jaw. Frankenstein’s breaths were gentle pants, heat washing over Master’s skin.

Raizel sighed, content, even though that was not quite what he had in mind when he said to clean; he had imagined something dirtier, then blushed at himself for the thought. He supposed he could have Frankenstein lick the come off him another time, which, as it was only the early evening at the moment, could be soon, because more than once, they had indulged themselves until sunrise. Raizel smiled softly, held Frankenstein close, because being like this, all gentle holds and caresses, too, felt good.

His human was happy to be held, cuddling against Raizel. “Did that satisfy you, Master? Or would you like more?” Whatever his Master wanted, as always.

Satisfied? He certainly was, he always was, with whatever Frankenstein desired. Raizel was used to being satisfied with what had to happen, had to be done. He was satisfied with his isolation, with his window, with his duties. But with Frankenstein, he was beyond just satisfied; he was tempted. So, “Yes,” he said, in answer to both questions. “Yes, Frankenstein,” Raizel repeated softly as he rolled them over and kissed him chastely before rising up, straddling Frankenstein. And he smiled, eyes all allure.

Master wanted him. That thought always warmed him, but he put his hands on Master’s thighs. “Master, should I still be in control?” As much as he wanted to let Master have his way with him, Master  _ had  _ expressed a desire and Frankenstein wanted to fulfill it. Grant his Master’s every wish.

Raizel tilted his head for a moment, considering. “What do you will of me, Frankenstein?” he asked.

Frankenstein smiled wickedly. “I want to watch you ride me, fuck yourself on me with abandon.”

Ah, Raizel blushed. “Very well,” he said as he leaned down to kiss Frankenstein again, his forehead, his cheeks, then his lips as he reached back with a hand to caress and tease at Frankenstein, coaxing him to hardness once again. Raizel shifted back to press himself against Frankenstein, glad that he was able to excite him.

“Your language… is naughty, Frankenstein,” not that Raizel minded.

Frankenstein pulled a couple of pillows under his back, propping him up so he could watch Raizel’s thighs shift and cock begin to plump up. He stroked Raizel’s thighs again. He could feel that Master didn’t mind his language, otherwise he would have asked if it was alright. “You excite me,” he explained, “and you are so good,” and so dedicated to his duty, even though it saddened Frankenstein, “that I don’t think it’s wrong for us to be naughty, every once in awhile.” He wanted to let Raizel experience it all, everything.

_ Every once in a while? _ Frankenstein underestimated himself. Raizel sat up, lifted himself and carefully sank back down, guiding Frankenstein into him. He was still for a moment, simply feeling him, clenching around him, and sighed. He moved, perhaps a bit too slowly for both of them, but he wanted to savor, and it was hot and heat, sweat and sweet. He could hear the lewd sounds their bodies made as he was still wet and full of Frankenstein’s on the inside. Raizel gazed down, eyes lidded and face rosey, his own hand sliding from his neck to his chest to his stomach, caressing himself for solely Frankenstein's eyes.

Like this, Raizel was so very sweet, entirely too sweet for him to bear it. “I love you,” Frankenstein said, the words almost tearing free of him. “You’re beautiful.”  _ Your soul is so beautiful _ . Warm and giving, just for Frankenstein, who couldn’t possibly have done enough to deserve it. He felt his cock harden within Raizel, trapped in heated slick tightness that moved around him, inflaming him.

A soft gasp. Raizel stilled. He looked at Frankenstein, eyes wide with vivid focus. And he was wonderstruck. What was he to say? How was he to reciprocate? Perhaps the simplest thing to say was “I love you as well,” and he could have cried with it; it was the truest thing he knew. Usually, such words would have made him blush and hum incoherently, but Raizel responded with a seriousness, his voice firm, emboldened, because he wanted—needed Frankenstein to know, even though he already did. Their feelings were not light things, and they did not confess lightly.

When Raizel began moving again, he did so forcefully, as if he were trying to drive their very feelings into himself, as if he were trying to prove his words truer than they already were, a confession of his body. When he shuddered and sighed, he was on display for the eyes of someone who did not need to see to know the regard Raizel had for him, but Raizel wished for Frankenstein to see, how good it felt to love him. And to be loved in return? There was no higher happiness.

Frankenstein cried out as Raizel moved around his cock, trembling with love and desire. They rarely said the words ‘I love you,’ but that was because they said them every minute of every day, in every action and in the bond between them. His Master was saying it to him now, in how he moved on Frankenstein, how good he made him feel. He thrusted upwards into that beloved body, ran his hands down the silken insides of Raizel’s thighs.

“Frankenstein,” Raizel called, moaned, but perhaps it was more of a plea. He leaned forward, to undo Frankenstein’s shirt, then, his hands on Frankenstein’s chest then his stomach, just to touch him as Raizel fucked himself, and it felt so great, to be so dirty, so unrestrained, so loving. Gasping and wet and blushing, he knew Frankenstein appreciated him, even when he dripped on his skin. And Raizel knew that when he would come for the third time that night, Frankenstein would be even dirtier.

“Yes…” Frankenstein savored the vision of Raizel undone like this, leaning towards Frankenstein and for a moment Frankenstein thought of asking him to bend down for a kiss, but that would change their position and he doubted he could push Raizel back up afterwards, increase the degree of separation between them. Not when what he wanted was closer, and closer still, bodies and souls growing tangled together until it would be impossible to separate them, even for an instant. 

Looking coyly up at Raizel, he brought a hand to his neck and made a cut with the flick of a nail, coating his fingers in blood and bringing his hand up to Raizel’s lips. “Drink,” he said, thrusting a finger into Raizel’s mouth, feeling that familiar tongue caress his fingers.

Raizel, though just a little surprised at the sudden intrusion, did as he was told, pressing forward to welcome Frankenstein’s flesh and blood: a gift. His eyes closed to savor, not the taste—he did not find blood particularly appetizing—but the feeling. Of those fingers invading his mouth, tangling in his tongue, because they were just that familiar with him, and he serviced them well.

Frankenstein moaned beneath him, eyes sliding shut, breaths coming faster as the body he knew so well moved on him and he reached out to touch that brilliant, beloved soul. A soft whimper escaped him: he  _ wanted _ , so much. Wanted everything Raizel so generously bestowed on him. Master gave Frankenstein more than he could have dreamed of and Frankenstein would love and serve him forever, if he had his way. 

It was an effort to not just lay back and think of the hips that rode him, but Raizel had asked for domination and Frankenstein would give him anything. Anything. So he opened his eyes again and smiled hazily up at Raizel before blinking himself awake. He removed his fingers from Raizel’s mouth and stroked his cheek. “Lovely” So perfect, his sweet Master. “How does it feel, my sweet, to have me within you?”

Raizel swallowed though there was still saliva on his lips, a spider silk-thin trail on his chin. As he continued to rock with his pleasure, he could feel the come from earlier slide out of him and around Frankenstein, and it was a flustering realization, but when they were like this, Raizel strangely felt pleasure in the act of overindulgence itself. “Like nothing else,” he said after a soft hum, a savoring moan. “I feel weak—you make me tremble, Frankenstein,” the only one who could, and yet Raizel also felt as if the world was his, perhaps because Frankenstein would give it all to him.

Stroking Raizel’s cheek, Frankenstein hummed to soothe and praise his Master. He should reward Raizel for speaking so much. With what, when he always surrounded Raizel with as many good things as he could, when his Master deserved them all? “I can feel the heat of your body all around me, the delicious little tremors running through you,” he said, so Raizel would know some of just how good he made Frankenstein feel. “It is so sweet to take you like this, to have you for my own.” Raizel was his, as he was Raizel’s. He trailed his hand down Raizel’s chest and carefully wrapped a hand around his Master’s cock, thrusting his hips up to press Raizel upwards into his grasp. He wanted to feel his Master come around him, and empty himself into Master’s body when it was wracked with pleasure.

A soft cry escaped him before Raizel could call Frankenstein’s name between his heated, tenuous sounds. Raizel’s eyes shut and his head tilted back, exposing his neck to Frankenstein. “Yes, Frankenstein,” Raizel said in a hurried breath, seeing his desire, and he would fulfill it, as Frankenstein fulfilled all of his. That body and hand and cock; under him, around him, in him, moving for his pleasure. Raizel moaned unashamed when he came, surely dirtying Frankenstein’s hand and chest and stomach, and even though Raizel trembled and his strength melted, he continued to move Frankenstein, wanting to pleasure him through his own, delicate hums and ‘ah’s leaving him.

Frankenstein arched up off the bed, burying himself deep in Raizel’s body as it convulsed around his sensitive flesh. He keened, throwing his head back and letting go, surrendering to the feeling of his Master, all around him, body and soul. “Yours,” he moaned as the aftershocks ran through him, “Yours, always.”

In Frankenstein’s hand, Raizel’s cock lazily spat out whatever was left of his climax as he pressed his hips against Frankenstein, feeling the heat rush him and the come leak and pool outside of him. He looked down, smiled softly. “Mine,” he told Frankenstein.

Raizel took the hand that was wrapped around him and brought it to his lips. His tongue to Frankenstein’s palm and fingers, and he licked his own taste clean. Frankenstein slid out with a vulgar sound as Raizel lifted his hips off him and returned his hand only to bend down, lips and tongue against a warm chest and stomach wet with the pleasure Frankenstein brought him.  _ Mine _ , and Raizel allowed it to be true.

Frankenstein reached up an arm to wrap it around Raizel’s warm back. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of Master’s body against his. Sleep? He was so used to dropping off after Master made him feel good, but he was struck by the urge to clean Master—not with his powers, but with a warm cloth in the shower. But if he did that he doubted he could resist the urge to fall to his knees and take Master into his throat while those well-loved hands caressed his head.

Raizel moved to kiss at Frankenstein’s neck, hiding a faint smile at Frankenstein’s thoughts. “You’ve made a mess, Frankenstein,” he said, sliding a finger around and into himself to feel what had been left there before withdrawing and lifting his head to better look at his Bonded. “It is appropriate to clean up after yourself.”

“Yes, Master,” he breathed, for a moment overcome with joy that someone so perfect, someone he loved so much was in his arms and wanted him. That his once-shy Master was even comfortable to tease him seemed a miracle in that moment, and he leaned up to savor a kiss, feeling as though he would rather be nowhere else but here. Well, maybe in the shower, as long as Master was there. Anywhere could be a paradise, if his beloved Master was there.

Like this, he could believe that they would be together forever, have an infinity of nights to spend cleaving together. What they shared was already proof of miracles.


	12. Chapter 12

Raizel frowned slightly. This was the second night that Frankenstein hadn’t come to bed. The project must be important (perhaps something for the children?) if Frankenstein hadn’t sought out his Master. Making a habit of lying with him before he slept had made Frankenstein far more willing to give in and sleep. Still, without rest Franken couldn’t manage as well, and he would never forgive himself if he made an error in an experiment that was for the children. With a sigh Raizel realized that he would need to resort to harsher measures, and closed his book, laying it on the coffee table with a decisive thump.

Perhaps it was telling that Frankenstein did not notice the exasperation in the bond that came from his Master. His eyes on numbers and charts and his nose in data. It was one thing after another, it seemed, not that Frankenstein minded the work; he would not have gotten this far without it. But even so, when it came to Master’s health, his efforts seemed futile. Frankenstein shook his head at the thought; he just needed to work harder.

Raizel stepped out of his pants, carefully stripping and then folding his clothing, laying it on the bedside table for when he returned to his room from Frankenstein’s. There were children in the house. He lay back on the bed and, closing his eyes, opened the bond. His hands trailed down his body.

Frankenstein glanced up from the tablet in his hands.  _ Master?  _ He inquired. Was something the matter?

His hands reaching  _ that  _ place, Raizel gripped it carefully. It still felt inelegant to do such things by himself, without Frankenstein, but Frankenstein  _ was  _ with him, was always with him in their souls. He gave himself a slow, lingering stroke, sharing the sensation with his Bonded.

Frankenstein jolted. What? He blinked. Was it himself? Was he tired?  _ Master, is there something you need?  _ he tried asking. His eyes returned to the data. It was not like him to get distracted, but still, he kept part of his attention on his Master, listening for an answer.

Raizel answered with another touch, because Frankenstein was rarely slow on the uptake and he would rather make his bonded feel good than speak. Hmm, should he open himself for Frankenstein? Frankenstein enjoyed the feel of being opened…

This time, Frankenstein gasped. He placed the tablet down on one of the lab benches. “Master, I—”  _ I still need to do this. Thank you, for your generosity. I will join you soon if you would like me to.  _ Because even though it was heavenly to lie in bed with his Master, Frankenstein was aware of his priorities.

“ _ I always like you with me _ .” Opening himself it was, then, Raizel decided. That would help make it so that Frankenstein came ‘soon’ by a human’s idea of soon, instead of a noble’s. His hands left himself to obtain the jar of oil, giving Frankenstein a temporary reprieve.

He sighed fondly, thinking that Master had decided to allow him more time to work in the lab. Ignoring the warmth on his face and in between his legs, Frankenstein turned to one of the computers. He should update the lab report before moving on.

Dipping three fingers in the jar, Raizel set it back on the bedside table and lay down again. Bending one of his legs, he reached under himself and circled his entrance gently, teasingly, before relaxing and beginning to slide the first finger into himself.

“Ma—” Frankenstein held a hand to his mouth. He looked at the screen; he had mistyped. Quickly, he corrected himself, though not as quickly as his spreading blush. Indeed, it would be difficult to concentrate like this (not that Master was difficult,  _ of course _ ). Another sigh from him, and for a moment, he gave in to the temptation to touch his front, suddenly vaguely annoyed at his pants, though he was aware that the lab was one of the least appropriate places for this type of behavior.

Feeling Frankenstein’s momentary pleasure, Raizel smiled to himself and thrusted the finger on deeper, circling it within himself and easing his body open instead of hurrying to where it felt best. He wanted to motivate Frankenstein to hurry, not make him incapable of finishing his work.

Frankenstein held back a moan. He cleared his throat into a fist. He had to at least finish the report even when he wanted to press back into Master, but oh, Master was in his room.  _ I will be with you shortly. _

Touching the outside of his hole with the tip of the second finger, Raizel kept stroking his inner walls, gently loosening them. If Franken would be here soon, that was more motivation to be good and stretched for him. He wanted to feel good for the one who gave him so many delights.

When at last he was done, Frankenstein divested himself of the lab coat and hurried to Master’s side, hoping no one would catch him at an...inconvenient time. He knocked on the door.

“ _ Come, Frankenstein,”  _ Raizel beckoned him, only thinking of the other meaning of that word afterwards, distracted by the second finger he had slipped into himself.

Frankenstein could not help but smile a little as he entered the room and closed the door behind himself. He blushed at the sight of Master laid bare before him. “My apologies to have kept you waiting, Master.” He looked up through his lashes. “But I see you have been enjoying yourself,” he added.

Raizel nodded and scissored his fingers within himself, watching Frankenstein expectantly.

Frankenstein swallowed and thought for a moment. Yes, of course he wished to have Master and for Master to have him, but “You are doing so well, perhaps I should leave you to it,” he could not refrain from teasing, at least a little, because Master was simply too cute like this. There was a slight sharpness to his smile.

Sighing because that was just like Frankenstein, Raizel spread his legs, making an offering of himself, and arched as he slid in the third finger.

_ Oh,  _ that was unfair. How could he resist, though Frankenstein admitted to himself that he was not a terribly fair player. Giving in, he unclothed himself, trying to not be inelegantly hasty. He loomed over Raizel, taking that hand that was was being absolutely devious—to both of them, because Frankenstein felt it too—and licking those fingers clean, though he doubted they would stay clean.  _ What would you like me to do, Master? _

Frankenstein removing his clothing, leaving himself bare was always beautiful. His clothing was armor, demanding respect and provoking the enemy, but Frankenstein had chosen to see Raizel as no enemy. Raizel’s bonded was a work of art, and Raizel was honored to be the one Frankenstein shared the beauty of his form with. Leaving his legs open, Raizel touched his fingers to Frankenstein’s lips. “Take me?” he asked his bonded, feeling suddenly shy. Did he have the right to ask anything of Frankenstein when Frankenstein did so much for him, had brought such joy into his life?

Now wasn’t Master sweet? Too sweet for his own good and too good to Frankenstein. Master had the right to ask anything of Frankenstein; the title he had given him made it obvious enough. But Frankenstein was aware of his own nature. “Where, Master? Here?”—he brushed a thumb past Raizel’s lips—“Or here?”—he deftly pressed his own fingers into Master’s body.

Raizel pressed against Frankenstein’s fingers, shamelessly enjoying his Bonded’s sure touch. Frankenstein knew him so well, even though it seemed as though they had been together no time at all. He came into Raizel’s life like a whirlwind, and Raizel was swept up by him, had fallen for him before he realized that such a thing might ever happen to him.

“It makes me happy to see you so eager, Master.” It brought him joy. As he continued to pleasure Master, Frankenstein leaned down for a kiss, wondering if perhaps he should give in or keep teasing. Master did distract him from work, after all. A bit of practice in patience would not hurt. Frankenstein’s fingers slowed though they reached just as deeply.

Raizel closed his eyes, slowing himself and savoring Frankenstein’s touch. It was rare that Frankenstein decided to go slowly—well, slowly by Raizel’s standards. Raizel was touched that Frankenstein wanted to attend to Raizel’s pleasure instead of seeking his own, even after Raizel had inflamed him.

Frankenstein knew that Master had wanted him to rest, and how clever, to draw Frankenstein to his room in this way, but “Were you so wanting that you could not have waited for me to finish?” he whispered low to enjoy how Master’s usually pale skin reddened.

It was true, he had missed dear Frankenstein, but Raizel knew that Frankenstein spoke in order to provoke him. He still couldn’t help a slight blush as he worried that he might have been demanding, but it was important that Frankenstein rest and be well. And Frankenstein couldn’t resent the imposition of Raizel’s lust, if such it was, not when his fingers still made Raizel feel so good.

Withdrawing his hand, Frankenstein gripped at Master’s hips as he slid his length along Raizel’s. He would not take him just yet even as he pressed them close and kissed at Master’s neck as he had so many times before.

It was a pleasure to have Frankenstein close, and Raizel was daring enough to wrap his arms around him, feeling the strong muscle of his back under his soft skin. He pressed up his hips to meet Frankenstein’s and tilted his head to the side, long lashes fluttering shut softly as Frankenstein pressed his lips to his neck. He truly loved this, when his Bonded was here with him in bed, when they cleaved together, seeking to bring pleasure to their most beloved. “Frankenstein… you did not rest last night,” he said, even though it worried him that he might spoil the moment.

“Oh, I was...not aware.” Frankenstein glanced to the side, a bit embarrassed. “My apologies, for causing you worry.” He looked back at Master. “But I am with you now. I will rest tonight, Master.” So perhaps he should take what was offered, spend himself and rest as Master desired, because even though this intimacy brought them both pleasure, Master wished for him to be well and healthy and rested, and Frankenstein could not deny his Master’s kindness, when kindness was in his nature.

He slid himself against Raizel just a few times more, appreciating the sensation and the shameless lewdness of it all before letting himself position himself to slide into Master in a swift movement, sighing against his neck.

“I missed you when you did not come to bed,” Raizel said, stroking Frankenstein’s golden hair. He didn’t agree, but he knew that mattered to Frankenstein more than Frankenstein’s own well being. To be certain his rebel Bonded remembered the lesson, “Lie with me until you have made up for the night without you, Frankenstein. Do not come until I do.”

Hearing Master say he missed him made Frankenstein’s chest flutter and he almost wanted to cry with it, but Master’s following words made him breathless. Oh, his Master could be ruthless when he wanted to; Frankenstein knew Raizel could and would outlast him, but he would try. “Yes, Master,” Frankenstein said as he began moving, focusing on Master’s pleasure instead of his own if he were to have any hope of obeying the command.

It was so hard to punish Frankenstein, to be harsh with him at all. After giving a command like he normally did to criminals, Raizel was driven to pat Frankenstein on the shoulder to be certain that he was alright as well as to reassure him, even though he could feel that Frankenstein was here, inside him. Raizel would much rather die than harm Frankenstein, whose life was so precious to this world, just as precious as he was to Raizel. Raizel was punishing him and yet Frankenstein still thrusted inside him, still gave him so much pleasure.

He didn’t deserve Frankenstein. He couldn’t. He could only be eternally, endlessly grateful.

If Master continued to be so lovely, Frankenstein was hopeless, so he distracted himself by worrying at Master’s neck and chest with his lips, running fingers through his hair, over the bridge of his collar bones, down until he held Master in his hands to stroke him with firm fingers. Master,  _ Master,  _ was too lovely, warm, milk and honey and sweets. Frankenstein groaned, a low rumble in his throat. He wondered if Master would be merciful tonight though he would not ask him to be, because this, he found exciting.

The sound was reassuring: Frankenstein made that sound when something strained him, but in a way he enjoyed. Frankenstein was always pushing himself, dancing on the edge. Tonight Raizel wished to bring him there and make him bear it, the way he bore Dark Spear. He wanted to give Frankenstein every pleasure, the way Frankenstein gave them to him, until even his Bonded who could endure so much needed to ask him to relent. The sound of Frankenstein in need was enthralling, but then Frankenstein always fascinated him. Right now, the feeling of Frankenstein’s lips on his neck and hand around him made him forget his thoughts, a potent distraction. Frankenstein was always so good at everything he did. Perhaps especially being naughty.

Maybe Frankenstein would have chuckled had a moan not stolen his sound first. This type of play, when Master was willing to push him, thrilled him in a way akin to the blaze of battle, but this was much more loving and much less dangerous. Frankenstein had always been one to enjoy a challenge and he challenged in return; it was a part of his pride. So he allowed himself to leave bites as well as kisses, because he knew Master liked them too. He was breathing heavier, the hand on Raizel’s hip starting to dig new moons on his skin, but he continued his pace. “Does this please you, Master?” He grinned through his own pleasure.

“Yes,” he said, red eyes soft before he had to shut them as Frankenstein thrusted again, touching that spot inside him. There was little that Frankenstein did that didn’t please him. When Frankenstein was hurt, and for no purpose. When he scared the children. But neither enemies nor children were here: here was only for the two of them, and there was nothing Frankenstein would do to him that he would not be grateful for. He gasped softly when he felt teeth on his neck, always amazed by Frankenstein’s daring, by how he shone. He wished that Frankenstein would take his blood: it was his if he wished. Raizel’s life, his everything was his if it would make Frankenstein smile.

How tempting it was to sink his own fangs past Master’s skin, but Frankenstein refrained, because it would make the bond like fire, like fireworks and oceans, and Frankenstein highly doubted he would be able to last very long with it like so. Though it would also please Master, Frankenstein was at a disadvantage; he was human, and pleasure was pleasure, while Master’s body was under his control, every tick and shift, Master willed. Master only came when he allowed himself to, and Frankenstein knew he was fighting a losing battle, but this one, he did not terribly mind. Who was he, to defeat his Master? He sighed, called to Master breathlessly as he admired his face and form, and he let Master see what his own eyes saw. From the soft curls of his black hair to his eyes and the rosiness surrounding them down his elegant neck and rising chest. It was all so beautiful. “You don’t play fair, Master,” Frankenstein said tenderly before he slowed just a little as he moaned.

No. No fight against the Noblesse was a fair fight, and that was as it was intended, but… he wanted to be better than that for Frankenstein. Raizel almost asked if he should relent, should allow Frankenstein to come as he wished, but there was still affection in his bonded’s voice despite his words, and he knew that Frankenstein, who fought to win so desperately, did not mind losing to him. He tightened around Frankenstein, pressed his lips to his Bonded’s, to make it better for him. Frankenstein was the one to tell him about that, about kisses and love making things better. And Frankenstein would know.

“Master,” Frankenstein breathed, as if Master were oxygen, in his lungs, in his veins and his cells, in his very being. God, what was he to do at the mercy of his own god? He could not help but smile as he struggled to hang onto whatever composure he had, because Master made him so very happy. Indeed, kisses and love made everything that much brutally sweeter. Frankenstein gasped, his body stuttering, and he stilled for a moment, determined to obey properly, saving himself. When he moved again, he moved carefully, moved slowly so as to not tip himself over.

Oh the sound of it, Frankenstein near overcome, trembling in his arms. He almost let go at that alone, but he wanted more for Frankenstein, more pleasure, more closeness, more of all good things. And if he was tired from what they did together, then he would rest well. He had missed the feel of Frankenstein the night he didn’t come to bed, but more than that he had missed giving Frankenstein this fraction of what he deserved. “Franken,” was all Raizel could say to answer that gasp, the name of his gentle love, hard and throbbing within him, holding on control with his teeth and fingernails because Frankenstein tried so hard to never let him down. Raizel couldn’t help but adore him.

Frankenstein placed his forehead against Master’s neck for a few breaths, his eyes closed. “Master,” he called back. Then once again, voice strained, and Frankenstein felt as if he were approaching a boiling point, maybe his molecules would crash and he would evaporate: all heat and pleasure. “Please,” a breath, “ _ please _ .” He thrusted a bit jerkily, a bit hesitant, but this was about Master’s pleasure as well, so he would do what needed to be done, teasing the head of Master’s cock with his hand. He bit him again, careful not to break skin.

For a moment, Raizel thought of asking Frankenstein to bite, but oh, that would be too much for him. And that was appealing, to have Frankenstein spill himself within him and whimper, cringing at his disobedience but only so that Raizel could reassure him that it was alright, that Raizel had wanted him to be overcome, but he couldn’t have Frankenstein feel that he had failed or let Raizel down, even for a moment. So, “Bite me,” he told his bonded. “Let us come together,” he said, and hid his face against Frankenstein’s neck, overcome for a moment with embarrassment and want. Want to be united with Frankenstein in so many ways, their bodies joined as their souls were joined, the bond between them renewed as they lost themselves in the pleasure of it.

“If I have your permission, Master…” Frankenstein, despite the heat and the ache of needing to come, bit down slowly, reverently, telling himself to be patient, to savor such a gift. When he swallowed, he did not pay so much attention to the taste. It was the feeling, the touch, and everything was grand. He pressed into Master deeply, dragging his nails against Master’ skin. “Master...Master!” how he loved him so much, so much, too much. He came, trembling and gasping, utterly lost and loving. Master,  _ Master _ knew him so well, knew just how to please.

Raizel came as Frankenstein took that scrap of his soul into his own: he could imagine for a moment that he had entered eternal sleep and become Franken’s, his weapon, to protect him and awaken him whenever he was in need or wished to protect. Oh, if he did not belong to his duty he would be Franken’s, always, but that was not possible. He almost wept with longing as that scrap of soul joined with their bond and became part of him again, and his eyes did grow a little wet. He hoped that Frankenstein did not notice. Or perhaps he did want it to be noticed, because he could use his Bonded’s gentle comfort, his kindness.

Raizel could not resent his fate as the Noblesse when it was that fate which gave him the power to protect Frankenstein, to be useful to him. When he died, he hoped it was for Frankenstein, and the life his bonded had given him and the family they had here. There could be no better reason to end. 

For now, he was alive, and in Frankenstein’s arms, and it was the transcendent joy of this that loosed the tears, in the end. He loved him so much, and nothing in his life until they met had prepared him for that meeting, far less their joining. He lay beneath that warm, beloved body and could feel the wetness within him, the use to which his body had been put, but what better use was there? His Bonded lay in a pleasured heap above him, and to accomplish that… simply to have the chance was more than an executioner deserved.

Master, oh, “Master,” he was far more loving than he was ruthless, and Frankenstein placed kisses on Master’s forehead, brushing away the tears with his thumb. Master was gentle enough to allow him to obey this time; Frankenstein had been let off easy, but whether or not one deserved the other, “I am yours, as you are mine,” and that was that. It was what they both willed, so it was so.


End file.
